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 Cape Verde and from Copenhagen.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Khruangbin to the rock 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 Carl Craig. All the underground hits.
All Grey Daturas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Stetsasonic 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Barry Ungar record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crash Course in Science,
Marine Girls,
Alice Coltrane,
T.S.O.L.,
Q and Not U,
Public Image Ltd.,
Godley & Creme,
Reuben Wilson,
Darondo,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Kool Moe Dee,
Scion,
Scientists,
Eve St. Jones,
The Gories,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Interpol,
U.S. Maple,
Deepchord,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Depeche Mode,
Franke,
The Pretty Things,
The J.B.'s,
Massinfluence,
Tommy Roe,
Spoonie Gee,
Dead Boys,
Crime,
Zapp,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Johnny Osbourne,
Clear Light,
Pantytec,
Harpers Bizarre,
T. Rex,
Johnny Clarke,
Ice-T,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Alison Limerick,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Livin' Joy,
Charles Mingus,
Royal Trux,
Roger Hodgson,
the Swans,
Rosa Yemen,
Ohio Players,
Gang Gang Dance,
James White and The Blacks,
The Dirtbombs,
The Monks,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
David Bowie,
Bronski Beat,
Excepter,
Groovy Waters,
Wolf Eyes,
a-ha,
Lightning Bolt,
Maleditus Sound,
Swell Maps,
Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson.
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.