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 Bahrain and from Mexico City.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 marimba 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 FM Einheit 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 Jerry Gold Smith. All the underground hits.
All Public Image Ltd. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Trojans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Supertramp,
Alison Limerick,
Chris Corsano,
Buzzcocks,
Lightning Bolt,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Fall,
David Bowie,
Cal Tjader,
Desert Stars,
Zapp,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
New York Dolls,
Joe Smooth,
Flipper,
Hasil Adkins,
Black Pus,
Little Man,
Alice Coltrane,
Black Bananas,
Matthew Halsall,
Ituana,
Sister Nancy,
Monks,
June of 44,
The Wake,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Dirtbombs,
Lyres,
Cybotron,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Gang of Four,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Judy Mowatt,
The Cramps,
Max Romeo,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Skarface,
Parry Music,
Joensuu 1685,
Dual Sessions,
Infiniti,
Archie Shepp,
Severed Heads,
Johnny Clarke,
Bizarre Inc.,
EPMD,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Zeros,
Dennis Brown,
The Evens,
Wings,
Arab on Radar,
Index,
Dorothy Ashby,
Pere Ubu,
Dark Day,
Monolake,
Bill Wells,
Kas Product,
the Bar-Kays,
Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow, Kurtis Blow.
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.