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 Argentina and from Spokane.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 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 Robert Wyatt to the crunk 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 Gang Gang Dance. All the underground hits.
All Louis and Bebe Barron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Shadows of Knight 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eddi Front record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
JFA,
10cc,
Jesper Dahlback,
Sonic Youth,
Al Stewart,
The Gladiators,
Marshall Jefferson,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Lindisfarne,
L. Decosne,
The Gun Club,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Pretty Things,
Terry Callier,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Golliwogs,
Wolf Eyes,
Kool Moe Dee,
Darondo,
Pussy Galore,
FM Einheit,
the Swans,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Monochrome Set,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Colin Newman,
Jawbox,
Todd Terry,
8 Eyed Spy,
Pantytec,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Doobie Brothers,
Hasil Adkins,
Max Romeo,
The Durutti Column,
Bobby Womack,
UT,
Q and Not U,
Marc Almond,
Eve St. Jones,
Con Funk Shun,
Mantronix,
Anakelly,
Suburban Knight,
Essential Logic,
Tears for Fears,
Dual Sessions,
Lakeside,
The J.B.'s,
Ultra Naté,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Lucky Dragons,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Kas Product,
Delon & Dalcan,
Robert Wyatt,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Tim Buckley,
Monolake,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Ponytail, Ponytail, Ponytail, Ponytail.
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.