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 Maldives and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Johannesburg.
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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Gregory Isaacs to the grime 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 Steve Hackett. All the underground hits.
All Lonnie Liston Smith tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Alarm Clocks 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Arthur Verocai record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Human League,
Subhumans,
Popol Vuh,
Joy Division,
Pylon,
Avey Tare,
Can,
Arthur Verocai,
the Soft Cell,
The Knickerbockers,
Roger Hodgson,
Crispian St. Peters,
Roxy Music,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Oneida,
The Young Rascals,
Marshall Jefferson,
Lungfish,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Chris Corsano,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Bang On A Can,
Electric Prunes,
Suburban Knight,
Lightning Bolt,
The Victims,
Rod Modell,
Wire,
Radiopuhelimet,
Ralphi Rosario,
Siglo XX,
Davy DMX,
Thompson Twins,
Scion,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Faraquet,
Qualms,
Organ,
Silicon Teens,
Fear,
Outsiders,
Khruangbin,
Leonard Cohen,
Rosa Yemen,
Suicide,
Nick Fraelich,
Hoover,
The Offenders,
F. McDonald,
Danielle Patucci,
Marvin Gaye,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Trojans,
Sun City Girls,
The Grass Roots,
Index,
Y Pants,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
the Normal,
Wally Richardson,
Buzzcocks, Buzzcocks, Buzzcocks, Buzzcocks.
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.