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 Finland and from Tehran.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 A Flock of Seagulls to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 The Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All Joe Finger tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nik Kershaw 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kool G Rap & DJ Polo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Patti Smith,
The Moody Blues,
The Smoke,
David McCallum,
Circle Jerks,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Joe Finger,
Skriet,
Lightning Bolt,
Ash Ra Tempel,
the Fania All-Stars,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Second Layer,
The New Christs,
Visage,
This Heat,
Supertramp,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Black Flag,
Fugazi,
Bizarre Inc.,
Nas,
Scientists,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Barry Ungar,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Pere Ubu,
Oblivians,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Dead Boys,
B.T. Express,
Idris Muhammad,
Mary Jane Girls,
Lou Christie,
Can,
Ohio Players,
Marine Girls,
Throbbing Gristle,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Arcadia,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Wolf Eyes,
8 Eyed Spy,
Deadbeat,
Eurythmics,
Johnny Osbourne,
Derrick May,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Red Krayola,
Adolescents,
Cybotron,
Agitation Free,
Moby Grape,
Buzzcocks,
Talk Talk,
New Age Steppers,
Kenny Larkin,
Marshall Jefferson,
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.