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 Iran and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Jacques Brel to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz. All the underground hits.
All Livin' Joy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lou Christie 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Red Krayola record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Prince Buster,
A Certain Ratio,
The Mummies,
Andrew Hill,
The Sonics,
Trumans Water,
Eric Dolphy,
Donny Hathaway,
Procol Harum,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
U.S. Maple,
Au Pairs,
New York Dolls,
The Associates,
Ultimate Spinach,
EPMD,
The Gories,
Unrelated Segments,
Average White Band,
Glenn Branca,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Eddi Front,
Bad Manners,
Funky Four + One,
Harry Pussy,
Saccharine Trust,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Throbbing Gristle,
Hashim,
F. McDonald,
Kas Product,
The Evens,
Marc Almond,
Boz Scaggs,
Soft Cell,
Charles Mingus,
Bobby Byrd,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Smog,
Slick Rick,
The Mojo Men,
Blancmange,
Bluetip,
Nick Fraelich,
Swell Maps,
Flash Fearless,
Terrestrial Tones,
Sexual Harrassment,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Mandrill,
Circle Jerks,
Howard Jones,
Black Moon,
The Knickerbockers,
Blake Baxter,
Jeru the Damaja,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Eli Mardock,
Kaleidoscope,
Yaz,
Zero Boys, Zero Boys, Zero Boys, Zero Boys.
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.