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 Iraq and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in 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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Amazonics to the electroclash 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 Kevin Saunderson. All the underground hits.
All De La Soul & Jungle Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cymande 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Techniques record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Shoche,
Scott Walker,
Minutemen,
Khruangbin,
Carl Craig,
Jawbox,
Iggy Pop,
Spoonie Gee,
Animal Collective,
The Doors,
Marc Almond,
Flash Fearless,
New Age Steppers,
Big Daddy Kane,
Guru Guru,
Bang On A Can,
Godley & Creme,
Boz Scaggs,
Pantaleimon,
Popol Vuh,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Jeru the Damaja,
Porter Ricks,
Depeche Mode,
Roger Hodgson,
Kayak,
Accadde A,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Dark Day,
The Velvet Underground,
Rufus Thomas,
Roy Ayers,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Faust,
Aloha Tigers,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Moss Icon,
Niagra,
Siglo XX,
Matthew Bourne,
Suburban Knight,
Surgeon,
the Swans,
The Kinks,
Chris Corsano,
Al Stewart,
Scan 7,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Jandek,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Aaron Thompson,
Tommy Roe,
Maleditus Sound,
Basic Channel,
Brothers Johnson,
David Axelrod,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Neon Judgement,
Joe Finger,
China Crisis, China Crisis, China Crisis, China Crisis.
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.