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 Nauru and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Banda Bassotti to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Peanut Butter Conspiracy. All the underground hits.
All The Flesh Eaters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Panda Bear record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 an oboe and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scratch Acid record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Altered Images,
L. Decosne,
Colin Newman,
Barbara Tucker,
The Alarm Clocks,
Das Ding,
Harpers Bizarre,
Bluetip,
R.M.O.,
Scrapy,
Amazonics,
Simply Red,
The Offenders,
Sarah Menescal,
Marmalade,
Aswad,
Wally Richardson,
Sound Behaviour,
Mo-Dettes,
Ronnie Foster,
Rekid,
Sparks,
The Names,
Symarip,
Alison Limerick,
Rakim,
Eric B and Rakim,
Liliput,
Terry Callier,
K-Klass,
Sight & Sound,
Sister Nancy,
Eve St. Jones,
Magma,
The Shadows of Knight,
Todd Rundgren,
Cal Tjader,
Barrington Levy,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Pere Ubu,
The American Breed,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Slick Rick,
Talk Talk,
The Durutti Column,
Suicide,
Agent Orange,
Jesper Dahlback,
Pylon,
Jeru the Damaja,
DJ Sneak,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Bill Wells,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Idris Muhammad,
Lou Christie,
Crash Course in Science,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Pet Shop Boys,
kango's stein massive,
The Remains,
Avey Tare,
Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond.
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.