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 Tunisia and from Philadelphia.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba 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 Goldenarms 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 Judy Mowatt. All the underground hits.
All Lizzy Mercier Descloux tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ajijia Myrayebe 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
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 Scion record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mars,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Animal Collective,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Y Pants,
T. Rex,
Ronnie Foster,
Judy Mowatt,
Robert Wyatt,
the Association,
Darondo,
The Moody Blues,
Alison Limerick,
Scan 7,
The Buckinghams,
Desert Stars,
Don Cherry,
Niagra,
Mr. Review,
Kerri Chandler,
DJ Style,
ABC,
Porter Ricks,
Crispian St. Peters,
Freddie Wadling,
New Age Steppers,
Talk Talk,
The Offenders,
Ossler,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
the Swans,
a-ha,
John Cale,
Rod Modell,
Angry Samoans,
Malaria!,
The Mummies,
Davy DMX,
Johnny Osbourne,
Flipper,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Theoretical Girls,
Joey Negro,
Smog,
Procol Harum,
Depeche Mode,
Hashim,
Ultravox,
Parry Music,
Flash Fearless,
kango's stein massive,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Audionom,
Pantaleimon,
Television Personalities,
The Motions,
Ornette Coleman,
Model 500,
CMW,
Livin' Joy,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Scott Walker,
The Wake,
Connie Case, Connie Case, Connie Case, Connie Case.
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.