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 Panama and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 disco kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 D'Angelo. All the underground hits.
All Juan Atkins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fad Gadget record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crooked Eye record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mars,
Flamin' Groovies,
Charles Mingus,
Wally Richardson,
The Monks,
Whodini,
Ice-T,
Brick,
Junior Murvin,
Vladislav Delay,
The Selecter,
The Fuzztones,
Sugar Minott,
Sound Behaviour,
Kerrie Biddell,
Gerry Rafferty,
X-101,
Todd Terry,
The Index,
Panda Bear,
Marc Almond,
Delta 5,
Subhumans,
The Walker Brothers,
The Last Poets,
Youth Brigade,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Peter & Gordon,
Qualms,
Lower 48,
Nik Kershaw,
Freddie Wadling,
Liliput,
The Pop Group,
Matthew Bourne,
Country Teasers,
Radio Birdman,
Alton Ellis,
Derrick May,
Dorothy Ashby,
Eve St. Jones,
Funky Four + One,
U.S. Maple,
Sonic Youth,
Bad Manners,
T. Rex,
Crispian St. Peters,
Eden Ahbez,
Eddi Front,
Half Japanese,
Yazoo,
Agitation Free,
Bill Wells,
Minnie Riperton,
Quando Quango,
Groovy Waters,
Bootsy Collins,
Black Pus,
Surgeon,
Hot Snakes,
Tim Buckley, Tim Buckley, Tim Buckley, Tim Buckley.
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.