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 Kuwait and from Manchester.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Johannesburg.
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 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 Los Fastidios to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Robert Hood. All the underground hits.
All Maleditus Sound tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every cv313 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Knickerbockers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Clear Light,
Iggy Pop,
David McCallum,
Talk Talk,
The Dirtbombs,
Spandau Ballet,
Sparks,
Lungfish,
Wolf Eyes,
Audionom,
Newcleus,
David Bowie,
The Count Five,
Country Teasers,
Henry Cow,
Jacques Brel,
Laurel Aitken,
Zero Boys,
Roxy Music,
Marc Almond,
Lower 48,
Massinfluence,
Zapp,
Drive Like Jehu,
Fad Gadget,
The Cramps,
Sonny Sharrock,
Reuben Wilson,
Rhythm & Sound,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Offenders,
Von Mondo,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Residents,
Vainqueur,
Make Up,
Ken Boothe,
the Slits,
Scientists,
Throbbing Gristle,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Index,
Jeff Lynne,
The Blackbyrds,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Josef K,
Tom Boy,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Angry Samoans,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Symarip,
Circle Jerks,
Alphaville,
The Happenings,
Jesper Dahlback,
Easy Going,
Nik Kershaw,
The Star Department,
Hasil Adkins,
The Fuzztones,
Groovy Waters,
Bobby Sherman,
Pole,
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, Suicide.
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.