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 Slovenia and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Steve Hackett to the techno 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 These Immortal Souls. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gang Starr record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Holt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minnie Riperton,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Camberwell Now,
Black Moon,
the Slits,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
the Bar-Kays,
The Pretty Things,
Panda Bear,
kango's stein massive,
10cc,
Jeru the Damaja,
Bluetip,
Chris Corsano,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Joe Finger,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Marmalade,
Robert Wyatt,
Althea and Donna,
Tubeway Army,
Bang On A Can,
Joey Negro,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
KRS-One,
Masters at Work,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Angels of Light,
Quadrant,
The Gladiators,
Janne Schatter,
The Gun Club,
Lebanon Hanover,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Funky Four + One,
Royal Trux,
The Count Five,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Hoover,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Liliput,
Eric B and Rakim,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Absolute Body Control,
Procol Harum,
Television Personalities,
Theoretical Girls,
Roy Ayers,
The Blackbyrds,
Bobby Sherman,
Marc Almond,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
the Human League,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Minor Threat,
Tommy Roe,
L. Decosne, L. Decosne, L. Decosne, L. Decosne.
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.