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 Egypt and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Mantronix 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 Electric Light Orchestra. All the underground hits.
All Charles Mingus tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Sheep record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Pretty Things record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
World's Most,
The Dead C,
Supertramp,
The Blues Magoos,
Boz Scaggs,
Wolf Eyes,
Laurel Aitken,
Bush Tetras,
Swell Maps,
Eve St. Jones,
Eddi Front,
Charles Mingus,
The Music Machine,
Malaria!,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Hasil Adkins,
Be Bop Deluxe,
New Age Steppers,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Buckinghams,
Excepter,
Motorama,
Tubeway Army,
The Beau Brummels,
B.T. Express,
Yusef Lateef,
Nas,
Section 25,
Simply Red,
The Wake,
Pole,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Clear Light,
Lalann,
The Sonics,
Aswad,
The Pretty Things,
Terrestrial Tones,
Bobby Womack,
Barclay James Harvest,
Andrew Hill,
Nico,
Radio Birdman,
Shuggie Otis,
Cecil Taylor,
Minny Pops,
T. Rex,
Crash Course in Science,
Cal Tjader,
Gang Green,
Tropical Tobacco,
Throbbing Gristle,
Khruangbin,
The Electric Prunes,
Peter & Gordon,
Jerry's Kids,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Main Source,
EPMD,
Zero Boys,
The Names, The Names, The Names, The Names.
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.