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 France and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Electric Prunes to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Deepchord. All the underground hits.
All Sad Lovers and Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Severed Heads 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Parry Music,
Index,
Whodini,
Ultravox,
Mr. Review,
Wolf Eyes,
Faraquet,
Jerry's Kids,
PIL,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The American Breed,
The Fuzztones,
Glambeats Corp.,
Cybotron,
Von Mondo,
Ken Boothe,
Livin' Joy,
The Seeds,
The Durutti Column,
Matthew Bourne,
Smog,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Youth Brigade,
Radiopuhelimet,
Blake Baxter,
The Five Americans,
K-Klass,
R.M.O.,
Massinfluence,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Wally Richardson,
Bobby Womack,
Tropical Tobacco,
FM Einheit,
8 Eyed Spy,
Rakim,
Qualms,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Dark Day,
Lalo Schifrin,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Ludus,
Little Man,
Los Fastidios,
Pere Ubu,
Swell Maps,
Tim Buckley,
Quadrant,
Joyce Sims,
These Immortal Souls,
Theoretical Girls,
David Axelrod,
Porter Ricks,
Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth.
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.