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 Poland and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 The United States of America to the punk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Jawbox. All the underground hits.
All The Peanut Butter Conspiracy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Organ 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Buckinghams record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
UT,
Mars,
The Move,
Suburban Knight,
Don Cherry,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Ken Boothe,
The Gories,
Kaleidoscope,
Terry Callier,
DJ Sneak,
Public Enemy,
Althea and Donna,
Darondo,
Anthony Braxton,
Harmonia,
The Detroit Cobras,
Ornette Coleman,
The Smiths,
Wolf Eyes,
The Doors,
Ash Ra Tempel,
the Sonics,
Matthew Bourne,
Funkadelic,
Maleditus Sound,
Chris Corsano,
Roxette,
Marine Girls,
Hashim,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Vladislav Delay,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Drexciya,
Alice Coltrane,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
These Immortal Souls,
Whodini,
Scion,
Max Romeo,
Y Pants,
The Birthday Party,
Mantronix,
Steve Hackett,
Pylon,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Easy Going,
Warsaw,
Idris Muhammad,
Smog,
Harry Pussy,
Tubeway Army,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Tom Boy,
Duran Duran,
Gabor Szabo,
Jesper Dahlback,
Leonard Cohen,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Buckinghams,
The American Breed, The American Breed, The American Breed, The American Breed.
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.