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 Marshall Islands and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 48th St. Collective to the jazz 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 Can. All the underground hits.
All James White and The Blacks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every H. Thieme record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
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 Cameo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Royal Trux,
Kaleidoscope,
The Dead C,
Brand Nubian,
Godley & Creme,
The Smiths,
The Misunderstood,
Con Funk Shun,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Excepter,
Stetsasonic,
Deepchord,
Derrick May,
Bad Manners,
Masters at Work,
The Dirtbombs,
Todd Terry,
Hashim,
Ronan,
Mr. Review,
Dark Day,
Pylon,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Henry Cow,
The Barracudas,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Hardrive,
Jandek,
The Skatalites,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Seeds,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Velvet Underground,
Hot Snakes,
Joy Division,
Todd Rundgren,
Bizarre Inc.,
Sister Nancy,
Gong,
PIL,
Gregory Isaacs,
Alphaville,
Khruangbin,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Ornette Coleman,
Flipper,
David Axelrod,
MC5,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Goldenarms,
Mo-Dettes,
Motorama,
ABBA,
The Cramps,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Red Krayola,
John Lydon,
Easy Going,
The Cowsills, The Cowsills, The Cowsills, The Cowsills.
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.