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 South Sudan and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
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 Bobby Womack to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Sly & The Family Stone. All the underground hits.
All The Martian tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rod Modell 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Khruangbin record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fort Wilson Riot,
Rites of Spring,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Bush Tetras,
Colin Newman,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Pantytec,
The Fire Engines,
Flamin' Groovies,
Stockholm Monsters,
Graham Central Station,
Lower 48,
R.M.O.,
Pet Shop Boys,
Barrington Levy,
Lightning Bolt,
Bill Wells,
Altered Images,
AZ,
the Sonics,
T.S.O.L.,
Rhythm & Sound,
Minnie Riperton,
Amon Düül II,
Alton Ellis,
Connie Case,
Kurtis Blow,
The Stooges,
Silicon Teens,
Radio Birdman,
These Immortal Souls,
Reuben Wilson,
Kas Product,
The Modern Lovers,
Howard Jones,
Johnny Clarke,
cv313,
Warren Ellis,
Fat Boys,
The New Christs,
The Selecter,
Young Marble Giants,
Negative Approach,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Dave Gahan,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Buckinghams,
Maleditus Sound,
Danielle Patucci,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Boz Scaggs,
Vainqueur,
Echospace,
Country Teasers,
H. Thieme,
Royal Trux,
Amazonics,
Camberwell Now,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Interpol,
Kool Moe Dee,
Minutemen, Minutemen, Minutemen, Minutemen.
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.