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 Comoros and from Shanghai.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Fela Kuti to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog. All the underground hits.
All Faraquet tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every KRS-One 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mr. Review,
Erasure,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Smoke,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Newcleus,
Bobby Sherman,
Gregory Isaacs,
Marc Almond,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Neu!,
Minnie Riperton,
Wasted Youth,
Sister Nancy,
Slave,
Flipper,
The Wake,
Rapeman,
Wings,
Skarface,
Panda Bear,
Michelle Simonal,
Glenn Branca,
Subhumans,
The Martian,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Soulsonic Force,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Soul Sonic Force,
Susan Cadogan,
Terry Callier,
The Pretty Things,
Faust,
Fad Gadget,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Dirtbombs,
The Flesh Eaters,
Hasil Adkins,
The Residents,
New York Dolls,
Unwound,
Delta 5,
Pantaleimon,
Marvin Gaye,
Gang Starr,
Laurel Aitken,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Boredoms,
Ronan,
Can,
The Offenders,
Yazoo,
Yusef Lateef,
Nils Olav,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Judy Mowatt,
Television,
Surgeon,
Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily.
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.