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 St Kitts & Nevis and from Philadelphia.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Smog to the jazz 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 Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All Boogie Down Productions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Aaron Thompson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sam Rivers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bluetip,
The Dirtbombs,
The Walker Brothers,
JFA,
Derrick May,
Junior Murvin,
Alton Ellis,
R.M.O.,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
New York Dolls,
Visage,
Aural Exciters,
Janne Schatter,
Brass Construction,
Charles Mingus,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Techniques,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Wasted Youth,
Urselle,
Black Flag,
Ponytail,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Gun Club,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Adolescents,
Lou Christie,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Selecter,
Joy Division,
Gang Starr,
The Barracudas,
10cc,
The Fugs,
The Evens,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Connie Case,
Mars,
Swell Maps,
Eli Mardock,
Roxette,
The Monochrome Set,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Scrapy,
The Index,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Zeros,
The Kinks,
Grauzone,
Deepchord,
the Swans,
Newcleus,
Sandy B,
The Smoke,
Fat Boys,
Average White Band,
Minnie Riperton,
Barry Ungar,
Make Up,
Circle Jerks,
The Blackbyrds,
Black Pus,
Siglo XX, Siglo XX, Siglo XX, Siglo XX.
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.