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 Qatar and from Bologna.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Ossler to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Youth Brigade. All the underground hits.
All Donald Byrd tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 synthesizer and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
ABC,
Minor Threat,
Adolescents,
Gang Gang Dance,
Crime,
Blancmange,
The Index,
Intrusion,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Essential Logic,
The Motions,
Underground Resistance,
Moss Icon,
The Shadows of Knight,
Infiniti,
Siglo XX,
Robert Hood,
The Raincoats,
Mr. Review,
Boz Scaggs,
Dark Day,
Maurizio,
John Holt,
Von Mondo,
Mars,
Wings,
Easy Going,
Throbbing Gristle,
Malaria!,
Pere Ubu,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Electric Prunes,
Hoover,
Theoretical Girls,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Cal Tjader,
Minnie Riperton,
Oblivians,
K-Klass,
The Fall,
David Bowie,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
R.M.O.,
Jawbox,
Jacques Brel,
Suicide,
John Foxx,
Bauhaus,
Accadde A,
Sonny Sharrock,
Sällskapet,
Eddi Front,
DJ Style,
Dawn Penn,
Roxette,
Al Stewart,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Pretty Things,
Tears for Fears,
Fatback Band,
The Evens,
The Cowsills, The Cowsills, The Cowsills, The Cowsills.
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.