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 Seychelles and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 Michael McDonald 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 Cure to the techno kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 A Flock of Seagulls. All the underground hits.
All The Pop Group tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mandrill record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Clear Light record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Real Kids,
Oblivians,
Minutemen,
Interpol,
Lightning Bolt,
F. McDonald,
DJ Style,
Grandmaster Flash,
Fela Kuti,
Max Romeo,
EPMD,
FM Einheit,
CMW,
David McCallum,
The Zeros,
Pussy Galore,
Whodini,
Flamin' Groovies,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Terry Callier,
Lou Christie,
Lee Hazlewood,
Suburban Knight,
The J.B.'s,
Joey Negro,
Essential Logic,
Roger Hodgson,
Quadrant,
Letta Mbulu,
Ice-T,
Wally Richardson,
OOIOO,
Brick,
Kurtis Blow,
Groovy Waters,
June of 44,
Dorothy Ashby,
Pierre Henry,
Crooked Eye,
Henry Cow,
Arthur Verocai,
Fatback Band,
Pagans,
Jandek,
Johnny Clarke,
Aswad,
Deepchord,
The Residents,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Masters at Work,
The Doobie Brothers,
June Days,
Terrestrial Tones,
Prince Buster,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Accadde A,
Quando Quango,
Gang of Four,
Ultravox,
The Slackers,
a-ha,
Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy.
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.