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 Qatar and from Mumbai.
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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Lafayette Afro Rock Band to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Oppenheimer Analysis. All the underground hits.
All Brass Construction tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jimmy McGriff 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Gladiators record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terry Callier,
Thee Headcoats,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Toasters,
X-102,
The Beau Brummels,
Livin' Joy,
Joey Negro,
Toni Rubio,
Los Fastidios,
The Techniques,
The Skatalites,
Mo-Dettes,
John Lydon,
Tom Boy,
Boz Scaggs,
Camberwell Now,
the Swans,
The Last Poets,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Carl Craig,
The United States of America,
Donny Hathaway,
Bootsy Collins,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Joensuu 1685,
Index,
cv313,
The Standells,
Subhumans,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Grauzone,
Throbbing Gristle,
Interpol,
Excepter,
Delon & Dalcan,
Joe Smooth,
Cecil Taylor,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
E-Dancer,
Barbara Tucker,
Vladislav Delay,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Young Rascals,
Aswad,
Marc Almond,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Human League,
The Kinks,
The Pop Group,
Bobby Byrd,
Theoretical Girls,
Harry Pussy,
Minor Threat,
Sister Nancy,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
ABBA,
John Coltrane,
The Index,
Kevin Saunderson, Kevin Saunderson, Kevin Saunderson, Kevin Saunderson.
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.