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 Rwanda and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 marimba 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade to the rap 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 Jacob Miller. All the underground hits.
All Wasted Youth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sly & The Family Stone 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tears for Fears record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Gladiators,
Kerrie Biddell,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Letta Mbulu,
Talk Talk,
The Martian,
The Five Americans,
Hasil Adkins,
Chris Corsano,
DJ Style,
Andrew Hill,
Underground Resistance,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Derrick May,
Suicide,
Neu!,
Carl Craig,
Procol Harum,
Sister Nancy,
Soulsonic Force,
Reagan Youth,
Angry Samoans,
Byron Stingily,
Basic Channel,
The Mojo Men,
Johnny Clarke,
Livin' Joy,
Sugar Minott,
X-101,
Darondo,
In Retrospect,
Japan,
Depeche Mode,
Roxy Music,
Bang On A Can,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Alphaville,
The Sound,
Fear,
Minor Threat,
Nico,
Ornette Coleman,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Amazonics,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Dead Boys,
The Durutti Column,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Offenders,
Goldenarms,
Cluster,
Stiv Bators,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Moss Icon,
Henry Cow,
The Remains,
Nils Olav,
Jacques Brel,
Lindisfarne,
Lee Hazlewood,
Mr. Review,
Glenn Branca, Glenn Branca, Glenn Branca, Glenn Branca.
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.