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 Eritrea and from Woodstock.
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 Houston and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1977 at the first Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Khruangbin to the rap kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Jerry's Kids. All the underground hits.
All Joyce Sims tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sun City Girls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 an arpeggiator and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Banda Bassotti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Evens,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
X-102,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Eddi Front,
Liliput,
L. Decosne,
R.M.O.,
Franke,
Crime,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Cabaret Voltaire,
New York Dolls,
Porter Ricks,
Television Personalities,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Supertramp,
Bush Tetras,
Gabor Szabo,
Pussy Galore,
The Stooges,
Funky Four + One,
The Angels of Light,
Bill Wells,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Dawn Penn,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Martian,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Unrelated Segments,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Victims,
Interpol,
Model 500,
Mantronix,
Anakelly,
The Alarm Clocks,
Symarip,
Crispian St. Peters,
Alice Coltrane,
Malaria!,
Gil Scott Heron,
Bob Dylan,
Terry Callier,
Cheater Slicks,
The Names,
Matthew Bourne,
The Selecter,
Arthur Verocai,
Boredoms,
Lalo Schifrin,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Sound,
Tubeway Army,
Agitation Free,
Girls At Our Best!,
Marmalade,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Pharoah Sanders,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Ituana,
Excepter, Excepter, Excepter, Excepter.
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.