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 India and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Junior Murvin to the jazz kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. All the underground hits.
All Pere Ubu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sun Ra Arkestra 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Man Eating Sloth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Todd Rundgren,
The Offenders,
Bush Tetras,
Sex Pistols,
Country Teasers,
Nick Fraelich,
Spandau Ballet,
kango's stein massive,
Judy Mowatt,
Sun Ra,
Ornette Coleman,
The Sonics,
T. Rex,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Brass Construction,
Alphaville,
Radio Birdman,
Fear,
Jesper Dahlback,
Harpers Bizarre,
Goldenarms,
Q65,
The Busters,
Porter Ricks,
Donald Byrd,
Carl Craig,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Crooked Eye,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Inner City,
Swans,
Brand Nubian,
Sarah Menescal,
Young Marble Giants,
Lyres,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Fatback Band,
Depeche Mode,
The Dirtbombs,
Desert Stars,
Technova,
Niagra,
John Coltrane,
DJ Sneak,
Black Pus,
The Neon Judgement,
Ohio Players,
Terrestrial Tones,
Model 500,
The Five Americans,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Human League,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Clear Light,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
David Bowie,
The Names,
Average White Band,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Mr. Review,
Chrome,
Graham Central Station,
Smog, Smog, Smog, Smog.
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.