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 Tuvalu and from Philadelphia.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 güiro 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 Techniques to the dance kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Johnny Osbourne. All the underground hits.
All David Bowie tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ohio Players record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Sonics 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?
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Ronnie Foster,
Moby Grape,
Mr. Review,
The Happenings,
The Vogues,
Bronski Beat,
The Shadows of Knight,
Sex Pistols,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Franke,
The Black Dice,
Altered Images,
Lucky Dragons,
Brick,
Buzzcocks,
Minor Threat,
Desert Stars,
Tears for Fears,
The Slackers,
Electric Prunes,
The Dead C,
Dead Boys,
Steve Hackett,
Sugar Minott,
Moss Icon,
Television Personalities,
Sun City Girls,
John Foxx,
Jeff Mills,
Roy Ayers,
The Beau Brummels,
Byron Stingily,
Harry Pussy,
Wasted Youth,
Q65,
X-Ray Spex,
Eurythmics,
Bauhaus,
Yellowson,
Pharoah Sanders,
Crash Course in Science,
Tom Boy,
Anakelly,
Jacques Brel,
Matthew Halsall,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Dark Day,
Robert Wyatt,
Gastr Del Sol,
Neu!,
Brothers Johnson,
The United States of America,
Graham Central Station,
The Durutti Column,
Clear Light,
Essential Logic,
Das Ding,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Girls At Our Best!,
Flipper, Flipper, Flipper, Flipper.
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.