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 United States and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Seoul.
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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Human League to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Sound Behaviour. All the underground hits.
All Glenn Branca tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jeru the Damaja record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Freddie Wadling record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Camberwell Now,
U.S. Maple,
The Saints,
Donald Byrd,
Loose Ends,
Arthur Verocai,
The Fortunes,
Livin' Joy,
Charles Mingus,
Sparks,
Avey Tare,
The Standells,
Deakin,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
John Foxx,
DJ Sneak,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Pylon,
Marmalade,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Roger Hodgson,
Freddie Wadling,
Tim Buckley,
The Electric Prunes,
Pantaleimon,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Animal Collective,
Max Romeo,
Cameo,
Marshall Jefferson,
Crooked Eye,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Heaven 17,
The Residents,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Minnie Riperton,
Reuben Wilson,
Gang of Four,
Howard Jones,
Chris & Cosey,
The Angels of Light,
The Red Krayola,
Masters at Work,
Zero Boys,
Peter & Gordon,
Dawn Penn,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Derrick May,
Gerry Rafferty,
Hardrive,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Morten Harket,
Fifty Foot Hose,
a-ha,
Simply Red,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Intrusion,
Ultravox,
Mad Mike,
The Busters, The Busters, The Busters, The Busters.
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.