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 China and from Delhi.
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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 B.T. Express to the disco kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Peter and Kerry. All the underground hits.
All Moby Grape tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Litter 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a R.M.O. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
Sam Rivers,
The Beau Brummels,
In Retrospect,
Rakim,
Symarip,
Porter Ricks,
The Standells,
Andrew Hill,
Gong,
Kevin Saunderson,
Aloha Tigers,
DJ Style,
Fear,
X-102,
Cheater Slicks,
Lou Reed,
Howard Jones,
Organ,
John Cale,
Colin Newman,
Little Man,
Ultravox,
Sister Nancy,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Fall,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Ronnie Foster,
Johnny Osbourne,
Robert Hood,
The Motions,
Angry Samoans,
Icehouse,
Chrome,
Rapeman,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Ituana,
Talk Talk,
Royal Trux,
Brothers Johnson,
Television Personalities,
Negative Approach,
Stockholm Monsters,
Lightning Bolt,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Crash Course in Science,
Franke,
Arcadia,
The Toasters,
John Lydon,
Boogie Down Productions,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Underground Resistance,
Sällskapet,
Faust,
The Blues Magoos,
Fatback Band,
Los Fastidios,
June of 44,
Nils Olav, Nils Olav, Nils Olav, Nils Olav.
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.