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 Ivory Coast and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 snare 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 Easy Going to the grunge 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 The Golliwogs. All the underground hits.
All Major Organ And The Adding Machine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Henry Cow 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mo-Dettes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gastr Del Sol,
Excepter,
Nirvana,
Andrew Hill,
Arthur Verocai,
The Fall,
Ossler,
Crispian St. Peters,
Fad Gadget,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Music Machine,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Second Layer,
T. Rex,
Livin' Joy,
These Immortal Souls,
Nik Kershaw,
The Standells,
The Flesh Eaters,
Maleditus Sound,
Robert Görl,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Susan Cadogan,
Fugazi,
Radiopuhelimet,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Chrome,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Hot Snakes,
The Offenders,
Sound Behaviour,
Suburban Knight,
Television,
Marine Girls,
The Fortunes,
PIL,
Gregory Isaacs,
Davy DMX,
Scrapy,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Al Stewart,
Rod Modell,
Gang Green,
Nick Fraelich,
H. Thieme,
Dark Day,
Archie Shepp,
the Fania All-Stars,
Soft Cell,
Kool Moe Dee,
Curtis Mayfield,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Kinks,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Lou Christie,
The Knickerbockers,
Swans, Swans, Swans, Swans.
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.