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 Laos and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Joensuu 1685 to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Real Kids. All the underground hits.
All the Fania All-Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Y Pants record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 harpsichord and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Radiopuhelimet record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sun City Girls,
The Five Americans,
Buzzcocks,
Bush Tetras,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Angry Samoans,
The Evens,
Ronan,
the Swans,
U.S. Maple,
Letta Mbulu,
Blake Baxter,
Swell Maps,
The Blackbyrds,
The Sound,
The Selecter,
Procol Harum,
Bobby Sherman,
Dead Boys,
Loose Ends,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Knickerbockers,
Tomorrow,
Sun Ra,
ABBA,
Cal Tjader,
The Fortunes,
Jacques Brel,
Erasure,
Josef K,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Peter and Kerry,
Absolute Body Control,
Maurizio,
Camouflage,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Colin Newman,
The Golliwogs,
The Wake,
Nik Kershaw,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Thee Headcoats,
Second Layer,
Skriet,
The Neon Judgement,
New Age Steppers,
The Barracudas,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Howard Jones,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Ohio Players,
Radio Birdman,
La Düsseldorf,
Khruangbin,
Robert Wyatt,
The Electric Prunes,
Audionom,
kango's stein massive,
Bill Wells,
Skaos,
Brick,
Tommy Roe, Tommy Roe, Tommy Roe, Tommy Roe.
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.