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 Turkmenistan and from Beijing.
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 1963 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Cybotron to the jazz kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Rufus Thomas. All the underground hits.
All Lizzy Mercier Descloux tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Slick Rick record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Sonics record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
CMW,
F. McDonald,
Byron Stingily,
Alice Coltrane,
Sun Ra,
Rapeman,
Barry Ungar,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Camouflage,
Fat Boys,
Radio Birdman,
The Raincoats,
Marc Almond,
Camberwell Now,
Harry Pussy,
Laurel Aitken,
The Music Machine,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Altered Images,
Erykah Badu,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Cure,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Shoche,
Amon Düül,
Johnny Osbourne,
Mandrill,
Joey Negro,
The Buckinghams,
Pulsallama,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Index,
cv313,
Henry Cow,
Warsaw,
Malaria!,
Rites of Spring,
Infiniti,
Barclay James Harvest,
Stiv Bators,
A Certain Ratio,
Popol Vuh,
Los Fastidios,
Piero Umiliani,
Jesper Dahlback,
Soft Cell,
Cameo,
Kevin Saunderson,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Slackers,
Marmalade,
Danielle Patucci,
Archie Shepp,
Au Pairs,
Dead Boys,
Donald Byrd,
8 Eyed Spy,
Kaleidoscope,
Lou Christie,
Reagan Youth,
Monolake,
Crispy Ambulance,
Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt, Judy Mowatt.
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.