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 Lesotho and from Tokyo.
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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Supertramp to the rock kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Doors. All the underground hits.
All Vaughan Mason & Crew tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Real Kids record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Invisible,
The Wake,
X-102,
Lungfish,
Ultra Naté,
Liliput,
The Tremeloes,
Bluetip,
Bauhaus,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Unwound,
Jerry's Kids,
Pantaleimon,
Freddie Wadling,
Parry Music,
Essential Logic,
Pharoah Sanders,
Bill Wells,
Half Japanese,
H. Thieme,
Malaria!,
Marvin Gaye,
Intrusion,
Man Parrish,
Talk Talk,
Sister Nancy,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Gang of Four,
Sexual Harrassment,
Ultimate Spinach,
Jandek,
The Beau Brummels,
Eric Dolphy,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
New York Dolls,
Royal Trux,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Das Ding,
Magma,
Kas Product,
Eddi Front,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Colin Newman,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Hoover,
Newcleus,
the Swans,
Sällskapet,
Inner City,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Standells,
Absolute Body Control,
Country Teasers,
Gang Gang Dance,
Technova,
Smog,
The Flesh Eaters,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Quando Quango,
The Kinks,
The Human League, The Human League, The Human League, The Human League.
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.