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 Ethiopia and from Sao Paulo.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 güiro 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 Angry Samoans to the techno 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 F. McDonald. All the underground hits.
All Deadbeat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Brothers Johnson 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Essential Logic record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Section 25,
Pussy Galore,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Buzzcocks,
Stiv Bators,
Fear,
The Monks,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Letta Mbulu,
AZ,
The Names,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Mr. Review,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Fluxion,
Bluetip,
Steve Hackett,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Bauhaus,
Smog,
Shoche,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Quadrant,
The Dead C,
Altered Images,
X-Ray Spex,
Cecil Taylor,
The Moody Blues,
Harry Pussy,
B.T. Express,
cv313,
Sex Pistols,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
James White and The Blacks,
Bobby Sherman,
Sandy B,
Barry Ungar,
Terry Callier,
The Fugs,
Michelle Simonal,
Wally Richardson,
Eurythmics,
the Germs,
Pagans,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Hot Snakes,
L. Decosne,
Tom Boy,
Television Personalities,
The Durutti Column,
The Residents,
The Star Department,
Connie Case,
Johnny Osbourne,
UT,
The Slits,
Erykah Badu,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Gichy Dan,
Tres Demented, Tres Demented, Tres Demented, Tres Demented.
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.