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 Singapore and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Lonnie Liston Smith to the techno kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 The Golliwogs. All the underground hits.
All Derrick Morgan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every T. Rex record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Beasts of Bourbon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Depeche Mode,
Can,
Accadde A,
Tommy Roe,
The Martian,
Arthur Verocai,
DNA,
June of 44,
The Last Poets,
Clear Light,
Bill Near,
Desert Stars,
The Flesh Eaters,
Pagans,
Man Parrish,
Albert Ayler,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Fall,
CMW,
Lungfish,
Cal Tjader,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Cramps,
X-Ray Spex,
Suicide,
Gil Scott Heron,
Cecil Taylor,
Sun Ra,
the Normal,
Public Enemy,
The Stooges,
Robert Görl,
Gabor Szabo,
Section 25,
Mr. Review,
Thee Headcoats,
The Moleskins,
Black Flag,
Warsaw,
Guru Guru,
Scion,
Model 500,
Echospace,
Boz Scaggs,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Crooked Eye,
Mo-Dettes,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Sun City Girls,
Nation of Ulysses,
Goldenarms,
Sixth Finger,
Terry Callier,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Modern Lovers,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Buckinghams,
Jandek,
10cc,
Popol Vuh,
The Grass Roots,
Fat Boys,
Soul II Soul,
The Saints, The Saints, The Saints, The Saints.
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.