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 Malaysia and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Anthony Braxton to the rap kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Sexual Harrassment. All the underground hits.
All Deepchord tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arab on Radar record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Khruangbin record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Evens,
Soulsonic Force,
H. Thieme,
Das Ding,
Nik Kershaw,
Scratch Acid,
Whodini,
Grey Daturas,
Simply Red,
R.M.O.,
Junior Murvin,
Gang of Four,
the Bar-Kays,
China Crisis,
The Durutti Column,
One Last Wish,
Radiohead,
Suicide,
Cymande,
Radiopuhelimet,
Mandrill,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Stetsasonic,
David Axelrod,
The Slackers,
Spoonie Gee,
Mo-Dettes,
Donny Hathaway,
Subhumans,
The Dead C,
John Cale,
DJ Style,
Tom Boy,
Ponytail,
Deadbeat,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Crime,
Blossom Toes,
Faust,
Babytalk,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Josef K,
a-ha,
The Names,
MDC,
Swans,
The Techniques,
Inner City,
Tubeway Army,
Sex Pistols,
The Victims,
X-Ray Spex,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Popol Vuh,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Kurtis Blow,
The Gladiators,
Pulsallama,
Don Cherry,
Scan 7, Scan 7, Scan 7, Scan 7.
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.