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 Uganda and from Winnipeg.
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 1966 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 güiro 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 Parry Music to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bob Dylan 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Organ record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brick,
Oneida,
Mad Mike,
Boz Scaggs,
The Slackers,
Camouflage,
Smog,
Swell Maps,
Alison Limerick,
Andrew Hill,
the Swans,
The Electric Prunes,
Groovy Waters,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Star Department,
The Standells,
Yaz,
Underground Resistance,
The Stooges,
Y Pants,
Ludus,
Das Ding,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Slick Rick,
Flipper,
Roger Hodgson,
Charles Mingus,
Todd Terry,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Circle Jerks,
John Foxx,
The Misunderstood,
Theoretical Girls,
Mark Hollis,
Grauzone,
Little Man,
Blancmange,
Gil Scott Heron,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Lungfish,
Mo-Dettes,
Surgeon,
Robert Wyatt,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Minutemen,
Malaria!,
Graham Central Station,
Gang Gang Dance,
Kayak,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Amon Düül,
the Fania All-Stars,
Arcadia,
Soft Cell,
The Mummies,
Wolf Eyes,
Simply Red,
The Red Krayola,
The Trojans,
Lee Hazlewood, Lee Hazlewood, Lee Hazlewood, Lee Hazlewood.
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.