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 East Timor and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 mellotron 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 Mr. Review to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Joyce Sims. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sällskapet record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 chamberlin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Shadows of Knight record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sonics,
The Fire Engines,
Jawbox,
Hashim,
Suicide,
Sex Pistols,
The Slackers,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Toasters,
B.T. Express,
Fela Kuti,
Con Funk Shun,
Gang Gang Dance,
Bootsy Collins,
Mantronix,
New York Dolls,
David Axelrod,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Amon Düül II,
Deepchord,
Cymande,
Radio Birdman,
Royal Trux,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Leaves,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Black Pus,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
DJ Style,
Fear,
Prince Buster,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Lower 48,
Althea and Donna,
Hot Snakes,
Joey Negro,
Quadrant,
Rhythm & Sound,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Crime,
Roy Ayers,
Judy Mowatt,
David Bowie,
Basic Channel,
Symarip,
Davy DMX,
Rakim,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
China Crisis,
The Offenders,
Toni Rubio,
Rosa Yemen,
Lou Christie,
The Angels of Light,
Tubeway Army,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Remains,
Outsiders,
Schoolly D,
Janne Schatter,
Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys, Dead Boys.
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.