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 Burundi and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Wolf Eyes 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 Pere Ubu. All the underground hits.
All Loose Ends tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eve St. Jones record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a B.T. Express record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Scientists,
Nils Olav,
Bluetip,
Icehouse,
Suicide,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Bang On A Can,
Curtis Mayfield,
Nation of Ulysses,
John Coltrane,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
La Düsseldorf,
Rites of Spring,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Angry Samoans,
The Sonics,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Aloha Tigers,
ABBA,
U.S. Maple,
Animal Collective,
Wings,
ABC,
Donald Byrd,
Hasil Adkins,
Scan 7,
Roxette,
Maurizio,
Lee Hazlewood,
Letta Mbulu,
Robert Wyatt,
Mr. Review,
8 Eyed Spy,
Mission of Burma,
Wally Richardson,
Morten Harket,
Pierre Henry,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Cowsills,
Tom Boy,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
UT,
Marvin Gaye,
The Blackbyrds,
B.T. Express,
L. Decosne,
DNA,
Magma,
Marmalade,
Bush Tetras,
F. McDonald,
The Grass Roots,
The Moody Blues,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Freddie Wadling,
Black Pus,
Kaleidoscope,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Public Enemy,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Standells, The Standells, The Standells, The Standells.
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.