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 Mauritania and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the snare 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 The Detroit Cobras to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Girls At Our Best!. All the underground hits.
All The Gladiators tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Howard Jones record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kenny Larkin record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cluster,
Arthur Verocai,
Man Eating Sloth,
Organ,
The Selecter,
Joe Finger,
Icehouse,
Susan Cadogan,
the Bar-Kays,
Popol Vuh,
The Sonics,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Hashim,
Radio Birdman,
The Walker Brothers,
Black Sheep,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Half Japanese,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Drexciya,
Ultravox,
DJ Style,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Gichy Dan,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Make Up,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Arcadia,
Sandy B,
Chris Corsano,
Glambeats Corp.,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Flash Fearless,
Girls At Our Best!,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Scott Walker,
Crispy Ambulance,
Arab on Radar,
Boredoms,
Guru Guru,
Sun Ra,
E-Dancer,
the Slits,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
David Axelrod,
Metal Thangz,
The Evens,
Chrome,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Wake,
Stockholm Monsters,
Rod Modell,
The Barracudas,
Skaos,
Aaron Thompson,
Desert Stars,
Bobbi Humphrey,
La Düsseldorf,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Index,
X-Ray Spex,
Erasure,
Moby Grape, Moby Grape, Moby Grape, Moby Grape.
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.