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 Australia and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Whodini to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Tomorrow. All the underground hits.
All The Men They Couldn't Hang tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Art Ensemble Of Chicago record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a H. Thieme record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scion,
Dark Day,
The Tremeloes,
Gregory Isaacs,
Alice Coltrane,
The Electric Prunes,
Henry Cow,
Royal Trux,
The Fall,
Index,
The Shadows of Knight,
Kenny Larkin,
Skarface,
Franke,
Gichy Dan,
Don Cherry,
Rapeman,
Sight & Sound,
Nik Kershaw,
Aloha Tigers,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Parry Music,
The Saints,
David Bowie,
Iggy Pop,
Lee Hazlewood,
Soft Cell,
Newcleus,
The Count Five,
Public Image Ltd.,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Durutti Column,
Hoover,
Maurizio,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
June of 44,
The Remains,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Television,
Smog,
Crooked Eye,
The Mojo Men,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Standells,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Man Parrish,
Masters at Work,
Robert Wyatt,
Warsaw,
Dorothy Ashby,
Pharoah Sanders,
Albert Ayler,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
John Cale,
Scientists,
Kaleidoscope,
Sugar Minott,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Soul Sonic Force,
Grauzone,
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.
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.