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 Australia and from Accra.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 organ 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 Ajijia Myrayebe to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 The Residents. All the underground hits.
All A Certain Ratio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Panda Bear record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Slackers,
Tomorrow,
Massinfluence,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Cramps,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Scott Walker,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Lyres,
Boredoms,
Dawn Penn,
X-102,
Harpers Bizarre,
Sex Pistols,
The Dave Clark Five,
Interpol,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Rufus Thomas,
Lalo Schifrin,
Nils Olav,
The Happenings,
Dark Day,
Silicon Teens,
Scrapy,
The Divine Comedy,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Slick Rick,
Minnie Riperton,
The Electric Prunes,
Make Up,
Panda Bear,
The Raincoats,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Average White Band,
Simply Red,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Jesper Dahlback,
Glambeats Corp.,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Alice Coltrane,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Darondo,
Piero Umiliani,
The Leaves,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Television Personalities,
Hasil Adkins,
Reuben Wilson,
David Axelrod,
Popol Vuh,
Aswad,
The Move,
OOIOO,
The Barracudas,
Blossom Toes,
Wasted Youth,
Rosa Yemen,
the Sonics,
Desert Stars,
the Association, the Association, the Association, the Association.
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.