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 Guyana and from Johannesburg.
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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Bologna.
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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Duran Duran to the grime 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 Lafayette Afro Rock Band. All the underground hits.
All The Men They Couldn't Hang tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Hasil Adkins record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispian St. Peters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Interpol,
Faust,
Scan 7,
Index,
Nick Fraelich,
Gil Scott Heron,
Roger Hodgson,
Girls At Our Best!,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Gang Green,
Leonard Cohen,
Urselle,
The Happenings,
Severed Heads,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Sister Nancy,
Slick Rick,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Amon Düül,
Slave,
Pylon,
Black Flag,
Magazine,
Qualms,
The Pretty Things,
Warsaw,
Drive Like Jehu,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Colin Newman,
The Dave Clark Five,
Suburban Knight,
Jerry's Kids,
The Move,
Harry Pussy,
The Names,
Fluxion,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Gladiators,
Panda Bear,
Reuben Wilson,
Magma,
Flash Fearless,
Eurythmics,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Cecil Taylor,
Simply Red,
Don Cherry,
Adolescents,
Albert Ayler,
Chrome,
In Retrospect,
Gastr Del Sol,
Rufus Thomas,
Half Japanese,
Khruangbin,
Bill Near,
The Real Kids,
Zapp,
Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins.
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.