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 Vietnam and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Bush Tetras to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Traffic Nightmare. All the underground hits.
All Marc Almond tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rites of Spring record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 an organ and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a June of 44 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba 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?
Angry Samoans,
the Bar-Kays,
Boredoms,
Surgeon,
Sister Nancy,
Sugar Minott,
Theoretical Girls,
Moby Grape,
The Skatalites,
Joy Division,
Circle Jerks,
Country Teasers,
Cameo,
Dave Gahan,
The Zeros,
Boogie Down Productions,
Robert Wyatt,
Harpers Bizarre,
Tommy Roe,
Max Romeo,
Icehouse,
The Tremeloes,
E-Dancer,
The Last Poets,
Man Parrish,
Blake Baxter,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Litter,
Supertramp,
Lalann,
Spoonie Gee,
The Trojans,
Hasil Adkins,
Can,
Slick Rick,
Tim Buckley,
Juan Atkins,
David Axelrod,
Cecil Taylor,
Ultimate Spinach,
Easy Going,
Sonny Sharrock,
Dead Boys,
Vladislav Delay,
Fela Kuti,
Ultra Naté,
Pylon,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Pere Ubu,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Camouflage,
Main Source,
Popol Vuh,
The Mummies,
Pussy Galore,
Buzzcocks,
The Golliwogs,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Tropical Tobacco,
Bluetip,
Mary Jane Girls,
Howard Jones, Howard Jones, Howard Jones, Howard Jones.
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.