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 Thailand and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 chamberlin 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 David Bowie to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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-ha. All the underground hits.
All Lafayette Afro Rock Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fall record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 an oboe and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a B.T. Express record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Hardrive,
Lindisfarne,
Sexual Harrassment,
Gang Green,
Connie Case,
Tommy Roe,
Black Pus,
The Music Machine,
Erykah Badu,
Thompson Twins,
Todd Terry,
Ohio Players,
Essential Logic,
the Sonics,
Harpers Bizarre,
Vainqueur,
Moby Grape,
The Residents,
Drexciya,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Malaria!,
Nik Kershaw,
The Fortunes,
Q65,
The Cure,
Oneida,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Trojans,
Babytalk,
Brand Nubian,
Ultimate Spinach,
Popol Vuh,
The Smoke,
X-102,
Aural Exciters,
Kenny Larkin,
The Searchers,
Nils Olav,
The Misunderstood,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Monochrome Set,
The Dead C,
Monks,
Alison Limerick,
Young Marble Giants,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Glambeats Corp.,
T.S.O.L.,
Section 25,
Crispian St. Peters,
Warsaw,
Peter & Gordon,
Joyce Sims,
Delta 5,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Leaves,
Fatback Band,
Byron Stingily,
Whodini,
Michelle Simonal,
Harry Pussy,
The Beau Brummels,
X-101, X-101, X-101, X-101.
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.