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 Mongolia and from Sao Paulo.
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 1969 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Can to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 The New Christs. All the underground hits.
All Richard Hell and the Voidoids tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Art Ensemble Of Chicago record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a marimba 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 güiro and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Porter Ricks,
Supertramp,
Buzzcocks,
Model 500,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Joey Negro,
The Tremeloes,
The Walker Brothers,
Outsiders,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Pierre Henry,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Ultra Naté,
Soul Sonic Force,
Kenny Larkin,
Amon Düül,
Barclay James Harvest,
Pylon,
Tom Boy,
Crispy Ambulance,
Dennis Brown,
Steve Hackett,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Nico,
Gil Scott Heron,
the Swans,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Pussy Galore,
Von Mondo,
Amazonics,
The Black Dice,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Television Personalities,
Moby Grape,
the Fania All-Stars,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Offenders,
The Five Americans,
Skaos,
The Searchers,
Ronnie Foster,
Crispian St. Peters,
Groovy Waters,
Glambeats Corp.,
Jerry's Kids,
Joe Smooth,
Bang On A Can,
Johnny Osbourne,
Q65,
Bill Wells,
FM Einheit,
Procol Harum,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Beau Brummels,
Roger Hodgson,
Throbbing Gristle,
Babytalk,
Althea and Donna,
Josef K,
Toni Rubio,
Bluetip,
Yaz, Yaz, Yaz, Yaz.
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.