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 Portland.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the guitar 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 Sly & The Family Stone to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Hot Snakes. All the underground hits.
All Scientists tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Khruangbin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 linndrum and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mandrill record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
Jacob Miller,
Todd Terry,
ABC,
Ultravox,
The Sonics,
Camouflage,
Terry Callier,
Joey Negro,
DNA,
The Misunderstood,
The Star Department,
Delon & Dalcan,
Popol Vuh,
Mr. Review,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Skriet,
Clear Light,
Main Source,
Marc Almond,
Bob Dylan,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Bizarre Inc.,
Inner City,
The Raincoats,
Y Pants,
Outsiders,
Malaria!,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Leaves,
Deadbeat,
The Wake,
Chris & Cosey,
OOIOO,
John Coltrane,
Roxy Music,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Grass Roots,
Crime,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Mary Jane Girls,
Rufus Thomas,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Black Sheep,
Erasure,
Massinfluence,
Sunsets and Hearts,
David McCallum,
Marcia Griffiths,
Jawbox,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Radio Birdman,
The Seeds,
Josef K,
Godley & Creme,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Pantytec,
Sister Nancy,
Idris Muhammad,
Wally Richardson,
Eden Ahbez,
Lucky Dragons,
ABBA, ABBA, ABBA, ABBA.
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.