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 Libya and from Lagos.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 the Human League to the funk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Eve St. Jones. All the underground hits.
All Aloha Tigers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bootsy Collins record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 clarinet and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Men They Couldn't Hang record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eyeless In Gaza,
Suburban Knight,
DJ Style,
June of 44,
Sex Pistols,
The Human League,
Smog,
The Remains,
The Residents,
Niagra,
The Grass Roots,
Carl Craig,
Hasil Adkins,
Mo-Dettes,
Scan 7,
Ponytail,
The Stooges,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Birthday Party,
Bad Manners,
Fluxion,
Fear,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
R.M.O.,
Pere Ubu,
Country Teasers,
Man Parrish,
The Motions,
Harry Pussy,
Wings,
Ituana,
Spandau Ballet,
Index,
Urselle,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Barrington Levy,
The Durutti Column,
Sam Rivers,
Peter & Gordon,
Jesper Dahlback,
8 Eyed Spy,
Boredoms,
The Misunderstood,
Make Up,
Laurel Aitken,
Pulsallama,
Gang Starr,
Funkadelic,
Camouflage,
Talk Talk,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
China Crisis,
Supertramp,
Lyres,
Depeche Mode,
Amon Düül II,
Massinfluence,
The Techniques,
Con Funk Shun,
Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment.
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.