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 Korea South and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band to the grime 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 Visage. All the underground hits.
All Pierre Henry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobbi Humphrey record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fluxion record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sex Pistols,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Supertramp,
Neu!,
Joy Division,
Bluetip,
Silicon Teens,
Michelle Simonal,
Das Ding,
Rakim,
Hardrive,
Banda Bassotti,
AZ,
Big Daddy Kane,
Mary Jane Girls,
Simply Red,
The Stooges,
Eurythmics,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Joensuu 1685,
Agitation Free,
The Associates,
the Bar-Kays,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Skarface,
Little Man,
The Pretty Things,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Human League,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Rosa Yemen,
Glenn Branca,
The Mummies,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Arcadia,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Can,
The Blackbyrds,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Accadde A,
Mark Hollis,
Agent Orange,
Don Cherry,
F. McDonald,
China Crisis,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Yaz,
Susan Cadogan,
Oblivians,
the Slits,
This Heat,
Mr. Review,
Crime,
Nation of Ulysses,
Joe Smooth,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt.
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.