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 Algeria and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 The Index to the electroclash 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 Lou Reed & Metallica. All the underground hits.
All The Royal Family And The Poor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Skriet record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Neil Young & Crazy Horse record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cheater Slicks,
Hot Snakes,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Maurizio,
Warsaw,
Yazoo,
Theoretical Girls,
Depeche Mode,
Joyce Sims,
X-101,
Harry Pussy,
Brand Nubian,
Radio Birdman,
The Motions,
Matthew Halsall,
Lebanon Hanover,
Deepchord,
Jawbox,
The Gladiators,
Dawn Penn,
T.S.O.L.,
The Residents,
Carl Craig,
The Saints,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Black Bananas,
Wolf Eyes,
Ronnie Foster,
Angry Samoans,
Rites of Spring,
The Dead C,
The Music Machine,
F. McDonald,
Thompson Twins,
Section 25,
Procol Harum,
Todd Rundgren,
Sister Nancy,
Bootsy Collins,
Minor Threat,
Zero Boys,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Arthur Verocai,
Delta 5,
Quando Quango,
Unwound,
Kerri Chandler,
The Gun Club,
FM Einheit,
CMW,
Icehouse,
Terry Callier,
Duran Duran,
Hasil Adkins,
Cluster,
Michelle Simonal,
Ten City,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Blackbyrds, The Blackbyrds, The Blackbyrds, The Blackbyrds.
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.