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 Sweden and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1967 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 snare 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 Joey Negro to the disco kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Bang On A Can. All the underground hits.
All Strawberry Alarm Clock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Mojo Men record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lizzy Mercier Descloux record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fire Engines,
The Count Five,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Letta Mbulu,
Wolf Eyes,
Lou Christie,
Sight & Sound,
Joe Finger,
Radio Birdman,
Junior Murvin,
Bill Near,
The Blackbyrds,
Rapeman,
ABC,
Michelle Simonal,
Eurythmics,
Siglo XX,
Mary Jane Girls,
Funky Four + One,
DJ Style,
Radiopuhelimet,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Jawbox,
Quadrant,
Black Bananas,
Camouflage,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Pussy Galore,
Delta 5,
Magma,
Crime,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Remains,
Mark Hollis,
Sun City Girls,
Harry Pussy,
David Axelrod,
Bobby Womack,
Faraquet,
Pole,
The Pretty Things,
Max Romeo,
Connie Case,
Arcadia,
Archie Shepp,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Surgeon,
the Association,
Derrick May,
Make Up,
Roxette,
Slick Rick,
David McCallum,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Dirtbombs,
Easy Going,
The Slackers,
Lindisfarne,
Kevin Saunderson,
Excepter,
Smog, Smog, Smog, Smog.
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.