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 Luxembourg and from Lyon.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Accra.
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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
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 T.S.O.L. to the grime 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 Barbara Tucker. All the underground hits.
All Sandy B tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deadbeat record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terry Callier record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Litter,
Bobby Byrd,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Wings,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Barracudas,
Rekid,
David McCallum,
Tom Boy,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Yellowson,
Cal Tjader,
Sandy B,
K-Klass,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Man Eating Sloth,
Saccharine Trust,
Magma,
The Fugs,
Icehouse,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Slits,
The Blues Magoos,
Marc Almond,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
John Lydon,
Kool Moe Dee,
Skriet,
cv313,
Harpers Bizarre,
Newcleus,
The Tremeloes,
The Blackbyrds,
Wasted Youth,
Steve Hackett,
Bob Dylan,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Minor Threat,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Lakeside,
Tomorrow,
Camberwell Now,
Lindisfarne,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
The Birthday Party,
Rapeman,
China Crisis,
Agent Orange,
Peter and Kerry,
Robert Wyatt,
Throbbing Gristle,
Joensuu 1685,
Crispian St. Peters,
Severed Heads,
Loose Ends,
Rakim,
Bang On A Can,
Terrestrial Tones,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Mantronix,
Jandek,
Peter & Gordon,
Pet Shop Boys, Pet Shop Boys, Pet Shop Boys, Pet Shop Boys.
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.