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 Philippines and from Beijing.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Inner City to the techno kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 These Immortal Souls. All the underground hits.
All The Flesh Eaters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Walker Brothers 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fire Engines record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Reuben Wilson,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Nation of Ulysses,
Angry Samoans,
Sight & Sound,
Girls At Our Best!,
Clear Light,
Hoover,
Fear,
The Neon Judgement,
Chris & Cosey,
The Standells,
Crooked Eye,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
AZ,
The Index,
the Bar-Kays,
Alphaville,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Smoke,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Harpers Bizarre,
Arcadia,
Jacques Brel,
Maurizio,
Soft Cell,
Interpol,
Hasil Adkins,
Scion,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Birthday Party,
Tres Demented,
New York Dolls,
Glambeats Corp.,
Tropical Tobacco,
Bob Dylan,
Jeff Lynne,
Blossom Toes,
The Martian,
The Slits,
The Pop Group,
Isaac Hayes,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Tubeway Army,
Mars,
The Alarm Clocks,
Tommy Roe,
Peter and Kerry,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
In Retrospect,
Chrome,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Surgeon,
John Coltrane,
The Young Rascals,
PIL,
Sonny Sharrock,
Yaz, Yaz, Yaz, Yaz.
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.