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 Cyprus and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 Paris and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 spring reverb 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 Pantytec to the techno 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 Archie Shepp. All the underground hits.
All Rhythm & Sound tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tropical Tobacco 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Glenn Branca record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brothers Johnson,
The Slackers,
Bush Tetras,
Lee Hazlewood,
48th St. Collective,
The Names,
The Trojans,
Mandrill,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Danielle Patucci,
Warsaw,
Smog,
Suicide,
Bang On A Can,
Los Fastidios,
The Happenings,
Angry Samoans,
Ronan,
Laurel Aitken,
Todd Terry,
Gregory Isaacs,
Camouflage,
Scrapy,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Durutti Column,
Sister Nancy,
Morten Harket,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Angels of Light,
Spandau Ballet,
Flipper,
Desert Stars,
Jawbox,
The Standells,
Alice Coltrane,
Ten City,
The Searchers,
Max Romeo,
The Fuzztones,
The Litter,
Interpol,
Make Up,
Main Source,
EPMD,
Frankie Knuckles,
Junior Murvin,
The Seeds,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Moss Icon,
Second Layer,
Bauhaus,
Camberwell Now,
8 Eyed Spy,
Dead Boys,
Bobby Womack,
Nik Kershaw,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Pere Ubu,
Television Personalities,
Wasted Youth,
Vladislav Delay,
Chrome,
Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B, Sandy B.
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.