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 Guinea and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 rhodes 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 Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon to the dance kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Kaleidoscope. All the underground hits.
All The Buckinghams tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scott Walker record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Man Eating Sloth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wasted Youth,
Althea and Donna,
The Searchers,
Deakin,
Mandrill,
Tears for Fears,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Music Machine,
a-ha,
Black Pus,
Urselle,
The Red Krayola,
The Mummies,
Eve St. Jones,
Henry Cow,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Severed Heads,
Japan,
Bill Wells,
Minutemen,
Hardrive,
Vainqueur,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Surgeon,
June Days,
Qualms,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Fugs,
Brass Construction,
Tommy Roe,
Gang Starr,
Gastr Del Sol,
Soul II Soul,
Theoretical Girls,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Evens,
Chris Corsano,
The Fortunes,
Radio Birdman,
Minor Threat,
Janne Schatter,
Cluster,
Cymande,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Modern Lovers,
Tropical Tobacco,
The American Breed,
The Fuzztones,
Kurtis Blow,
Danielle Patucci,
Fad Gadget,
Ken Boothe,
Whodini,
Spandau Ballet,
OOIOO,
Roxette,
the Fania All-Stars,
Infiniti,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Jacques Brel, Jacques Brel, Jacques Brel, Jacques Brel.
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.