Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Swaziland and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Teenage Jesus and the Jerks to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by Dawn Penn. All the underground hits.
All Letta Mbulu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Mighty Diamonds record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Parry Music record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Man Eating Sloth,
Bill Near,
Dorothy Ashby,
X-Ray Spex,
Chrome,
Sparks,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Popol Vuh,
Q and Not U,
Camberwell Now,
The Black Dice,
Sun City Girls,
Donald Byrd,
Bobby Womack,
Livin' Joy,
Bobby Byrd,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Marine Girls,
Sister Nancy,
Lower 48,
Clear Light,
Morten Harket,
Oneida,
Little Man,
Aloha Tigers,
Minor Threat,
Panda Bear,
Max Romeo,
James White and The Blacks,
ABBA,
Robert Wyatt,
The Trojans,
Delon & Dalcan,
Marc Almond,
Saccharine Trust,
Bobby Sherman,
Sam Rivers,
The New Christs,
Accadde A,
Bad Manners,
Lightning Bolt,
Radiopuhelimet,
Khruangbin,
Jeff Mills,
Bluetip,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Real Kids,
Minutemen,
The Durutti Column,
The Invisible,
The Walker Brothers,
Todd Terry,
the Fania All-Stars,
Hot Snakes,
Loose Ends,
Boz Scaggs,
The Raincoats,
Joe Finger,
Cluster,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Television, Television, Television, Television.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.