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 United Kingdom and from Johannesburg.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Drive Like Jehu to the rock 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 Nik Kershaw. All the underground hits.
All Michelle Simonal tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Peter and Kerry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Thee Headcoats record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Selecter,
Lungfish,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Moody Blues,
Rites of Spring,
The Martian,
Man Eating Sloth,
Gregory Isaacs,
Juan Atkins,
Ronan,
Susan Cadogan,
The Velvet Underground,
Jerry's Kids,
D'Angelo,
Bronski Beat,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
The Monks,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Aswad,
Excepter,
Tomorrow,
Yellowson,
Eve St. Jones,
Terry Callier,
B.T. Express,
Sound Behaviour,
Brothers Johnson,
Country Teasers,
This Heat,
T.S.O.L.,
Infiniti,
The Mummies,
Sonny Sharrock,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Tom Boy,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Con Funk Shun,
the Swans,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Jeff Lynne,
Terrestrial Tones,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Trumans Water,
Pet Shop Boys,
Lightning Bolt,
The Neon Judgement,
Fluxion,
The Busters,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Arcadia,
Yusef Lateef,
Oblivians,
R.M.O.,
Maurizio,
The Fire Engines,
Cheater Slicks,
The Gladiators,
Babytalk,
Barbara Tucker,
The Detroit Cobras,
KRS-One,
Kayak,
Soul II Soul,
Ice-T, Ice-T, Ice-T, Ice-T.
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.