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 Palau and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Albert Ayler to the grunge 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 Nils Olav. All the underground hits.
All Prince Buster tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Scott Walker 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nick Fraelich record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
The Flesh Eaters,
Wally Richardson,
The Velvet Underground,
Gang Green,
The Slackers,
Stiv Bators,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Tremeloes,
Bootsy Collins,
Blake Baxter,
The Gap Band,
Graham Central Station,
Desert Stars,
Barclay James Harvest,
the Bar-Kays,
Bizarre Inc.,
Half Japanese,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Jeru the Damaja,
Negative Approach,
Sight & Sound,
Malaria!,
Zero Boys,
Au Pairs,
Intrusion,
Tears for Fears,
CMW,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Bobby Byrd,
Scott Walker,
David Axelrod,
Barry Ungar,
Brass Construction,
Jerry Gold Smith,
U.S. Maple,
Little Man,
The Slits,
Q65,
Joyce Sims,
Massinfluence,
The Standells,
Darondo,
Peter & Gordon,
MDC,
Stereo Dub,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Litter,
Cal Tjader,
The J.B.'s,
Black Bananas,
Mr. Review,
Hoover,
The Zeros,
Barrington Levy,
The Trojans,
The Barracudas,
The Cure,
Buzzcocks,
Tommy Roe,
Ralphi Rosario,
Los Fastidios,
Depeche Mode,
Matthew Halsall,
Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy.
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.