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 Netherlands and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez 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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 David Axelrod to the rock kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Rahsaan Roland Kirk. All the underground hits.
All Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Index record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bobby Sherman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mars,
48th St. Collective,
The Golliwogs,
Black Sheep,
Pussy Galore,
The Dead C,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Boredoms,
The Shadows of Knight,
Schoolly D,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Doors,
Interpol,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Throbbing Gristle,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Moody Blues,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Amon Düül,
Jacques Brel,
The Monks,
Toni Rubio,
Todd Rundgren,
Swell Maps,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Crispian St. Peters,
Livin' Joy,
Clear Light,
Television,
Groovy Waters,
Absolute Body Control,
Shuggie Otis,
Kayak,
Animal Collective,
Joe Finger,
Oneida,
Sex Pistols,
Sandy B,
Mad Mike,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The J.B.'s,
Kevin Saunderson,
Country Teasers,
Sun Ra,
Fatback Band,
Alice Coltrane,
Whodini,
Ludus,
Heaven 17,
Godley & Creme,
Au Pairs,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Terrestrial Tones,
Khruangbin,
John Lydon,
Rod Modell,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Pop Group,
Gang of Four,
Minny Pops,
Magma, Magma, Magma, Magma.
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.