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 Nicaragua and from Salvador.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Symarip to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Flash Fearless. All the underground hits.
All Nik Kershaw tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lou Christie record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gastr Del Sol 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?
Ossler,
Quantec,
The Last Poets,
This Heat,
Country Joe & The Fish,
David McCallum,
Amon Düül,
James White and The Blacks,
Jerry's Kids,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Malaria!,
Minnie Riperton,
Eddi Front,
Barry Ungar,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Pole,
Niagra,
Accadde A,
Byron Stingily,
Janne Schatter,
Bluetip,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
China Crisis,
the Human League,
Eric Copeland,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Judy Mowatt,
Slick Rick,
Sparks,
Rites of Spring,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Soulsonic Force,
Zero Boys,
The Real Kids,
Curtis Mayfield,
Buzzcocks,
the Normal,
The J.B.'s,
Albert Ayler,
Pussy Galore,
Michelle Simonal,
Spandau Ballet,
Roy Ayers,
John Coltrane,
The Offenders,
Stiv Bators,
Soft Machine,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Swell Maps,
Laurel Aitken,
These Immortal Souls,
10cc,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Bronski Beat,
Johnny Osbourne,
Thee Headcoats,
The Modern Lovers,
Lindisfarne,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Joensuu 1685,
Ten City,
Kool Moe Dee, Kool Moe Dee, Kool Moe Dee, Kool Moe Dee.
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.