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 Australia and from Tehran.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Paris.
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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Q65 to the jazz kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell. All the underground hits.
All Terry Callier tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Peter and Kerry 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Spoonie Gee record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Darondo,
Brick,
June of 44,
Bootsy Collins,
Fear,
the Fania All-Stars,
Smog,
The Dead C,
The Selecter,
Ituana,
The Litter,
Josef K,
Don Cherry,
Deakin,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Fatback Band,
Inner City,
Interpol,
Shuggie Otis,
John Holt,
Gil Scott Heron,
Funky Four + One,
Black Flag,
Eric Dolphy,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Animal Collective,
Thompson Twins,
Patti Smith,
Ronan,
Erykah Badu,
Severed Heads,
Ludus,
Wasted Youth,
Moby Grape,
Tom Boy,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Mark Hollis,
Traffic Nightmare,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Au Pairs,
The Standells,
The Cowsills,
The Busters,
The Motions,
Marc Almond,
Gang Green,
Lindisfarne,
The Star Department,
The Cramps,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
DJ Sneak,
Jeru the Damaja,
a-ha,
Depeche Mode,
Amon Düül II,
Goldenarms,
The American Breed,
London Community Gospel Choir,
X-Ray Spex,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Lungfish,
The Offenders, The Offenders, The Offenders, The Offenders.
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.