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 Venezuela and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Ken Boothe to the rap kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Avey Tare. All the underground hits.
All The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Outsiders record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 an oboe and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Interpol record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
K-Klass,
Swell Maps,
Johnny Clarke,
Guru Guru,
Amazonics,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Yaz,
Electric Prunes,
Procol Harum,
Supertramp,
The Black Dice,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Detroit Cobras,
Danielle Patucci,
Don Cherry,
The Alarm Clocks,
Schoolly D,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Todd Terry,
Robert Görl,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Sonics,
Panda Bear,
These Immortal Souls,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Charles Mingus,
The Durutti Column,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Al Stewart,
The Zeros,
Urselle,
Graham Central Station,
Crime,
Kayak,
One Last Wish,
Howard Jones,
Marvin Gaye,
Man Parrish,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Bill Wells,
Delta 5,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Gang of Four,
Pole,
Angry Samoans,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Pantytec,
Surgeon,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Gladiators,
Black Sheep,
The Shadows of Knight,
Nation of Ulysses,
Tropical Tobacco,
Shoche,
T.S.O.L.,
Talk Talk,
Theoretical Girls,
Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow.
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.