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 Maldives 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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Johnny Clarke to the crunk 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rakim 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a F. McDonald record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Electric Prunes,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Arab on Radar,
The Fire Engines,
Excepter,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Country Teasers,
The Fugs,
Peter & Gordon,
Ten City,
Chrome,
Oblivians,
Johnny Osbourne,
Wally Richardson,
The Mojo Men,
La Düsseldorf,
Mad Mike,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Barry Ungar,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Spandau Ballet,
Sun City Girls,
Minny Pops,
Matthew Bourne,
Pere Ubu,
JFA,
Shoche,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Siglo XX,
Rakim,
Tres Demented,
Khruangbin,
Bad Manners,
Bill Near,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Gang Gang Dance,
Deadbeat,
the Swans,
Smog,
Blake Baxter,
Supertramp,
The Blues Magoos,
the Association,
Lower 48,
The Pop Group,
Groovy Waters,
the Germs,
The Doobie Brothers,
Quadrant,
Lungfish,
The Red Krayola,
Average White Band,
Rosa Yemen,
Jacques Brel,
Glambeats Corp.,
Spoonie Gee,
Ohio Players,
Magma,
Fatback Band,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Warren Ellis,
Tubeway Army,
Ornette Coleman,
Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler.
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.