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 South Sudan and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 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 The New Christs to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Five Americans. All the underground hits.
All Sandy B tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eve St. Jones 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Smiths record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Index,
Wasted Youth,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Cowsills,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Infiniti,
Zapp,
Ornette Coleman,
Lee Hazlewood,
Sonic Youth,
Charles Mingus,
Roy Ayers,
Crime,
Cameo,
Gastr Del Sol,
Depeche Mode,
Interpol,
Matthew Bourne,
Pole,
Slave,
The Names,
Au Pairs,
Ronan,
Public Enemy,
The American Breed,
Hoover,
Sexual Harrassment,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Skaos,
Yellowson,
Juan Atkins,
Soul II Soul,
Trumans Water,
Crispy Ambulance,
X-102,
Man Parrish,
Technova,
Babytalk,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Electric Light Orchestra,
DJ Style,
Youth Brigade,
Throbbing Gristle,
Moby Grape,
Donny Hathaway,
Jesper Dahlback,
Lyres,
Wings,
DNA,
Rosa Yemen,
Cluster,
Monolake,
Joy Division,
The Slackers,
cv313,
The Neon Judgement,
The Litter,
The Golliwogs,
The Birthday Party,
Barclay James Harvest,
Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys.
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.