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 Burundi and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 güiro 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 kango's stein massive to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Marc Almond. All the underground hits.
All Sexual Harrassment tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobby Sherman 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Stooges record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cure,
R.M.O.,
Dorothy Ashby,
Stetsasonic,
Minutemen,
Althea and Donna,
The Zeros,
The Fire Engines,
June Days,
Alison Limerick,
Sarah Menescal,
The Vogues,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Gang of Four,
Gerry Rafferty,
Hot Snakes,
James White and The Blacks,
EPMD,
Inner City,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Soul Sonic Force,
Eden Ahbez,
John Cale,
Shuggie Otis,
The Names,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Bootsy Collins,
Sexual Harrassment,
Young Marble Giants,
Adolescents,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Detroit Cobras,
Thompson Twins,
The Sonics,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Remains,
Sällskapet,
The Searchers,
Blancmange,
Ice-T,
The Toasters,
Tommy Roe,
Underground Resistance,
Scrapy,
Whodini,
Sparks,
Marc Almond,
Zapp,
Roger Hodgson,
Boz Scaggs,
FM Einheit,
Gang Starr,
Jandek,
Monks,
Ossler,
Maurizio,
The Fortunes,
Prince Buster,
Buzzcocks,
Loose Ends,
Swans, Swans, Swans, Swans.
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.