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 Angola and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Bang On A Can to the disco 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 Sunsets and Hearts. All the underground hits.
All The Grass Roots tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barclay James Harvest 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lungfish,
Swell Maps,
The Leaves,
Lee Hazlewood,
Glambeats Corp.,
T. Rex,
Arab on Radar,
Mary Jane Girls,
Delon & Dalcan,
E-Dancer,
DNA,
H. Thieme,
Marvin Gaye,
Roy Ayers,
In Retrospect,
Camouflage,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Crime,
Henry Cow,
Theoretical Girls,
The Martian,
Harpers Bizarre,
Rakim,
Steve Hackett,
Bobby Byrd,
Peter and Kerry,
The Raincoats,
Suburban Knight,
Mad Mike,
Make Up,
The Toasters,
Bad Manners,
The Beau Brummels,
The Standells,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Vainqueur,
Zero Boys,
Nils Olav,
Lakeside,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Neon Judgement,
The Invisible,
Danielle Patucci,
Jeru the Damaja,
Tubeway Army,
Das Ding,
Radio Birdman,
John Holt,
Dave Gahan,
Skaos,
The Blues Magoos,
Rapeman,
Little Man,
Robert Wyatt,
Lower 48,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Walker Brothers,
Excepter,
The J.B.'s,
Average White Band,
Crooked Eye, Crooked Eye, Crooked Eye, Crooked Eye.
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.