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 United States and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the marimba 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 Ossler to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme. All the underground hits.
All Basic Channel tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Siglo XX record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 808 and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Men They Couldn't Hang record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Arab on Radar,
Sällskapet,
Grauzone,
Ronan,
David McCallum,
Mark Hollis,
Smog,
Yusef Lateef,
Boz Scaggs,
Curtis Mayfield,
Don Cherry,
Avey Tare,
Television Personalities,
The Angels of Light,
Maurizio,
the Human League,
Pussy Galore,
Lindisfarne,
T. Rex,
Public Image Ltd.,
Ituana,
CMW,
Skarface,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Moody Blues,
The Techniques,
The Motions,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Average White Band,
Silicon Teens,
Radiopuhelimet,
Warsaw,
Model 500,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Dark Day,
Bobby Sherman,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Cheater Slicks,
Jeff Mills,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
the Soft Cell,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Thee Headcoats,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Althea and Donna,
The Sound,
Johnny Clarke,
Deadbeat,
Rufus Thomas,
Fat Boys,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Jerry Gold Smith,
China Crisis,
The Raincoats,
Pagans,
Crash Course in Science,
Oneida,
Mars,
Soft Machine,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Gladiators,
Jacques Brel, Jacques Brel, Jacques Brel, Jacques Brel.
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.