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 Algeria and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
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 Lonnie Liston Smith to the techno 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 Rapeman. All the underground hits.
All Crooked Eye tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every China Crisis record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 clarinet and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultimate Spinach,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Henry Cow,
Los Fastidios,
10cc,
The Invisible,
Jandek,
Vladislav Delay,
Wally Richardson,
T. Rex,
The Index,
Stiv Bators,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
R.M.O.,
The Skatalites,
Marc Almond,
Quando Quango,
Wasted Youth,
Procol Harum,
The Monks,
Big Daddy Kane,
Can,
Negative Approach,
Agent Orange,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Little Man,
Jeff Mills,
Scrapy,
Magazine,
Mars,
The New Christs,
John Foxx,
Tropical Tobacco,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Doors,
The Leaves,
Supertramp,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Slackers,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Ornette Coleman,
Black Bananas,
The Trojans,
Dead Boys,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Country Teasers,
The Blues Magoos,
Maleditus Sound,
The Sound,
The Standells,
The Count Five,
Urselle,
Funkadelic,
The Misunderstood,
Scientists,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Pop Group,
Piero Umiliani,
The Mummies,
Ronnie Foster,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs, The Dirtbombs.
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.