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 Fiji and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Toronto.
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 Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Girls At Our Best! to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Intrusion. All the underground hits.
All Aural Exciters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dennis Brown record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Depeche Mode record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dead Boys,
The J.B.'s,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Electric Prunes,
Main Source,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Detroit Cobras,
Mission of Burma,
James White and The Blacks,
the Germs,
Monks,
The Fire Engines,
The Associates,
The Fortunes,
The Move,
Tommy Roe,
Qualms,
Lou Christie,
PIL,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Tom Boy,
The Birthday Party,
Vladislav Delay,
Colin Newman,
R.M.O.,
Lou Reed,
The Angels of Light,
Whodini,
Susan Cadogan,
Man Eating Sloth,
Mary Jane Girls,
Bronski Beat,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Smiths,
Organ,
Can,
The Dead C,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Monks,
The Cowsills,
Ralphi Rosario,
Tomorrow,
Henry Cow,
Freddie Wadling,
Boredoms,
Tears for Fears,
Loose Ends,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Ludus,
Swans,
Yaz,
ABC,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Offenders,
the Sonics,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Laurel Aitken,
JFA,
The Fugs,
Von Mondo,
Harmonia,
Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus.
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.