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 Costa Rica and from Winnipeg.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Curtis Mayfield to the dance kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Red Lorry Yellow Lorry. All the underground hits.
All The Searchers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Rakim record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Leaves,
Desert Stars,
Alice Coltrane,
Erasure,
The Stooges,
the Swans,
Quando Quango,
Bauhaus,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Reuben Wilson,
Theoretical Girls,
Niagra,
Popol Vuh,
Trumans Water,
Fad Gadget,
Severed Heads,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Lindisfarne,
Idris Muhammad,
Little Man,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Monolake,
The Velvet Underground,
Swell Maps,
The Seeds,
10cc,
Ice-T,
Robert Wyatt,
Dorothy Ashby,
Vainqueur,
Yusef Lateef,
Pharoah Sanders,
Jacques Brel,
Dawn Penn,
F. McDonald,
The Sisters of Mercy,
the Slits,
The Slackers,
The Pretty Things,
Marine Girls,
D'Angelo,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Sexual Harrassment,
Wings,
Oneida,
Das Ding,
Supertramp,
The Knickerbockers,
Bill Near,
Pantaleimon,
The Kinks,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Deepchord,
Rosa Yemen,
Ohio Players,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Echospace,
Laurel Aitken,
La Düsseldorf,
Steve Hackett,
The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C, The Dead C.
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.