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 United Kingdom and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 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 Hoover to the rap 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 Charles Mingus. All the underground hits.
All Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Albert Ayler record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nico record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
U.S. Maple,
Rekid,
Make Up,
This Heat,
Masters at Work,
X-101,
Glambeats Corp.,
New Age Steppers,
Motorama,
Scratch Acid,
Cymande,
It's A Beautiful Day,
K-Klass,
The Red Krayola,
Absolute Body Control,
The Last Poets,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Slits,
Darondo,
Susan Cadogan,
Funkadelic,
LL Cool J,
Fela Kuti,
Depeche Mode,
Iggy Pop,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Black Dice,
Andrew Hill,
The Monochrome Set,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Stiv Bators,
The Martian,
Kurtis Blow,
Peter & Gordon,
ABC,
Tommy Roe,
The Pretty Things,
Pulsallama,
Sonny Sharrock,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Golliwogs,
Josef K,
Pussy Galore,
These Immortal Souls,
Hoover,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Seeds,
Robert Wyatt,
Reuben Wilson,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Marmalade,
Barrington Levy,
Albert Ayler,
B.T. Express,
Animal Collective,
Delta 5,
Parry Music,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Grass Roots,
The Happenings, The Happenings, The Happenings, The Happenings.
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.