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 Indonesia and from Manchester.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 Captain Beefheart 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 Whodini to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Youth Brigade. All the underground hits.
All Sad Lovers and Giants tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Icehouse 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 a güiro and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Blues Magoos record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Tropical Tobacco,
Section 25,
The Martian,
Ultravox,
The Mojo Men,
Mad Mike,
Theoretical Girls,
The Last Poets,
Ultimate Spinach,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Circle Jerks,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Warren Ellis,
Vainqueur,
Interpol,
Ten City,
Symarip,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Seeds,
Eric Copeland,
Andrew Hill,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
China Crisis,
Lower 48,
Second Layer,
Nico,
Terrestrial Tones,
Malaria!,
Al Stewart,
Model 500,
KRS-One,
Reuben Wilson,
Crash Course in Science,
CMW,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Howard Jones,
Ituana,
Ornette Coleman,
The Move,
The Dave Clark Five,
Brass Construction,
Public Enemy,
Bronski Beat,
Alice Coltrane,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Sparks,
Dennis Brown,
Piero Umiliani,
Das Ding,
The Gun Club,
Whodini,
Slick Rick,
Depeche Mode,
Susan Cadogan,
Fear,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Sixth Finger,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Grass Roots,
Steve Hackett,
Hashim,
Harmonia, Harmonia, Harmonia, Harmonia.
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.