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 Comoros and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Philadelphia.
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 synthesizer 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 48th St. Collective to the jazz 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 Loose Ends. All the underground hits.
All Livin' Joy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Quando Quango record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s 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 Cymande record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Danielle Patucci,
Mary Jane Girls,
Ronan,
A Certain Ratio,
Michelle Simonal,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Pierre Henry,
The American Breed,
Bobbi Humphrey,
In Retrospect,
Dark Day,
Delta 5,
Model 500,
Groovy Waters,
Kenny Larkin,
Pussy Galore,
Lalo Schifrin,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Slits,
Schoolly D,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Index,
Magma,
David Bowie,
Thompson Twins,
June of 44,
The Toasters,
Frankie Knuckles,
Lakeside,
The Invisible,
Country Teasers,
The Beau Brummels,
Gong,
Don Cherry,
10cc,
Lightning Bolt,
Black Bananas,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Procol Harum,
The Birthday Party,
Freddie Wadling,
The Monks,
Drexciya,
Adolescents,
Brass Construction,
Easy Going,
Depeche Mode,
Tomorrow,
The Trojans,
Heaven 17,
ABBA,
DJ Style,
The Smiths,
Crooked Eye,
Supertramp,
Clear Light,
Young Marble Giants,
Neu!,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Doors,
The Saints,
Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks.
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.