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 Latvia and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe 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 Bill Near to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Robert Görl. All the underground hits.
All Nick Fraelich tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Khruangbin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang Green,
Heaven 17,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Doors,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Visage,
the Fania All-Stars,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
These Immortal Souls,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Dirtbombs,
The Dead C,
Rod Modell,
Ponytail,
KRS-One,
The Stooges,
Mandrill,
This Heat,
Surgeon,
Arab on Radar,
Parry Music,
Aural Exciters,
The Modern Lovers,
The Blues Magoos,
Deakin,
AZ,
Glenn Branca,
Stetsasonic,
Tomorrow,
Colin Newman,
Von Mondo,
Spoonie Gee,
Kaleidoscope,
Black Flag,
Marshall Jefferson,
Gang Gang Dance,
Trumans Water,
DNA,
Eric B and Rakim,
the Soft Cell,
Hoover,
Pere Ubu,
Panda Bear,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Gabor Szabo,
Roxette,
Infiniti,
Lightning Bolt,
Harry Pussy,
Lucky Dragons,
Spandau Ballet,
Country Teasers,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Josef K,
Wasted Youth,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Todd Terry,
Charles Mingus,
Eric Copeland,
Interpol,
Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster, Ronnie Foster.
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.