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 Malta and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and London.
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 clarinet 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 Mr. Review to the funk 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 Robert Hood. All the underground hits.
All Bob Dylan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fatback Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 synthesizer and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Alice Coltrane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Offenders,
Lyres,
Infiniti,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Litter,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Connie Case,
Eve St. Jones,
Malaria!,
Bill Near,
La Düsseldorf,
Warsaw,
Hasil Adkins,
Donny Hathaway,
Kurtis Blow,
Fear,
Barry Ungar,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Underground Resistance,
Amon Düül,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Thompson Twins,
Joyce Sims,
The Blackbyrds,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Marshall Jefferson,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Smoke,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Deepchord,
Black Sheep,
Animal Collective,
Black Moon,
Procol Harum,
New Age Steppers,
The Young Rascals,
Public Enemy,
Index,
Cheater Slicks,
Make Up,
E-Dancer,
Main Source,
The Blues Magoos,
Traffic Nightmare,
Robert Görl,
Dawn Penn,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Nirvana,
Tomorrow,
Lee Hazlewood,
Minny Pops,
Flash Fearless,
Sexual Harrassment,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Jacob Miller,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
James White and The Blacks,
Reuben Wilson,
Smog, Smog, Smog, Smog.
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.