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 Ukraine and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 organ 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 Jesper Dahlback to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 The J.B.'s. All the underground hits.
All Lalo Schifrin tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fela Kuti 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Doobie Brothers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Anthony Braxton,
Kenny Larkin,
Wally Richardson,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Buzzcocks,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Wasted Youth,
Scion,
F. McDonald,
Radio Birdman,
Max Romeo,
Malaria!,
Maurizio,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Stiv Bators,
Todd Rundgren,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Bill Near,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
B.T. Express,
Trumans Water,
10cc,
Supertramp,
DJ Style,
Alton Ellis,
Bizarre Inc.,
Joensuu 1685,
Porter Ricks,
Suicide,
The Slackers,
Rapeman,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Alphaville,
Talk Talk,
Archie Shepp,
Lungfish,
UT,
Brand Nubian,
Andrew Hill,
The Detroit Cobras,
Accadde A,
DNA,
Bill Wells,
Joe Smooth,
The Alarm Clocks,
Rites of Spring,
Althea and Donna,
The Dirtbombs,
The Blues Magoos,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Audionom,
Index,
Eric Copeland,
The Seeds,
D'Angelo,
Laurel Aitken,
Dawn Penn,
The Searchers,
The Young Rascals,
Cluster,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs.
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.