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 Zambia and from Manila.
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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Pylon to the grime kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Residents. All the underground hits.
All Stiv Bators tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lonnie Liston Smith record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 chamberlin and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Judy Mowatt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The United States of America,
Brick,
Gil Scott Heron,
UT,
The Dead C,
Sonic Youth,
Bobby Byrd,
Traffic Nightmare,
Monolake,
Amon Düül II,
The Smiths,
Tommy Roe,
A Certain Ratio,
The Dirtbombs,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Reuben Wilson,
Cheater Slicks,
Bill Wells,
Kerrie Biddell,
Buzzcocks,
Girls At Our Best!,
Angry Samoans,
Boredoms,
Babytalk,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Bad Manners,
Panda Bear,
The Black Dice,
Todd Terry,
The Cowsills,
Joe Smooth,
Pierre Henry,
Graham Central Station,
Rod Modell,
Fad Gadget,
Lungfish,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Moleskins,
Goldenarms,
Saccharine Trust,
The Associates,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Man Parrish,
The Leaves,
Harry Pussy,
Cluster,
Sex Pistols,
Hashim,
Pulsallama,
Rosa Yemen,
Surgeon,
Jerry Gold Smith,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Albert Ayler,
Glambeats Corp.,
Anthony Braxton,
Harmonia,
Jeff Lynne,
Deepchord,
Quadrant,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.