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 Liberia and from Toronto.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 The Moleskins to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Shuggie Otis. All the underground hits.
All Big Daddy Kane tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Blake Baxter 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Hot Snakes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
John Lydon,
Harry Pussy,
Talk Talk,
Don Cherry,
T.S.O.L.,
Intrusion,
Godley & Creme,
The Real Kids,
Ronnie Foster,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Lou Christie,
Sexual Harrassment,
Panda Bear,
Sun City Girls,
Black Bananas,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Cymande,
Frankie Knuckles,
Nation of Ulysses,
Graham Central Station,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Rod Modell,
David Axelrod,
Easy Going,
The Cure,
Gregory Isaacs,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Trumans Water,
The Grass Roots,
Vladislav Delay,
Susan Cadogan,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
ABBA,
The Leaves,
Donald Byrd,
Black Pus,
Shuggie Otis,
Gong,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Jeff Lynne,
Los Fastidios,
Nik Kershaw,
Supertramp,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Lower 48,
Kevin Saunderson,
Ludus,
Organ,
Mantronix,
Rakim,
Ultra Naté,
Lungfish,
Kool Moe Dee,
Dorothy Ashby,
Marine Girls,
Joey Negro,
Lucky Dragons,
Flamin' Groovies,
Scientists,
Barry Ungar,
Audionom,
Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B.
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.