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 Niger and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Derrick May to the rap 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 Bob Dylan. All the underground hits.
All Sly & The Family Stone tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Oblivians record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Icehouse record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
48th St. Collective,
The Fugs,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Aaron Thompson,
These Immortal Souls,
The Standells,
Marmalade,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Aural Exciters,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Lightning Bolt,
Mad Mike,
R.M.O.,
Parry Music,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Tres Demented,
Suicide,
The Saints,
Neu!,
Q65,
Agent Orange,
Jeff Mills,
The Sonics,
Moby Grape,
Bill Wells,
The Human League,
Rakim,
L. Decosne,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Martian,
Arthur Verocai,
The Golliwogs,
Alton Ellis,
Todd Terry,
Gang of Four,
Man Eating Sloth,
Bang On A Can,
Infiniti,
Mandrill,
Black Bananas,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Babytalk,
The Fuzztones,
John Cale,
The Neon Judgement,
Ludus,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Tomorrow,
a-ha,
Panda Bear,
The Red Krayola,
Barbara Tucker,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Idris Muhammad,
The Barracudas,
The Fire Engines,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Doors, The Doors, The Doors, The Doors.
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.