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 Estonia and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1969 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 organ 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 Sexual Harrassment to the funk 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 John Holt. All the underground hits.
All Gang of Four tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dead C record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Robert Hood record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
8 Eyed Spy,
Susan Cadogan,
The Tremeloes,
Fat Boys,
Terrestrial Tones,
Ornette Coleman,
Eve St. Jones,
Henry Cow,
Joe Finger,
the Sonics,
John Lydon,
DJ Sneak,
The Human League,
Charles Mingus,
The Divine Comedy,
Lou Christie,
Pierre Henry,
Angry Samoans,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
OOIOO,
Simply Red,
Blancmange,
Cal Tjader,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Ronnie Foster,
The Sound,
Public Image Ltd.,
La Düsseldorf,
Davy DMX,
Eddi Front,
Young Marble Giants,
Arab on Radar,
Malaria!,
Section 25,
Suburban Knight,
Yellowson,
B.T. Express,
Eric Dolphy,
T. Rex,
Von Mondo,
Glenn Branca,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Aaron Thompson,
The Gap Band,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Girls At Our Best!,
Howard Jones,
The Five Americans,
Gichy Dan,
Dead Boys,
Marvin Gaye,
The Blackbyrds,
The Sonics,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Scrapy,
Franke,
Wolf Eyes,
Kaleidoscope,
Y Pants,
Jeff Mills,
Bluetip, Bluetip, Bluetip, Bluetip.
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.