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 Tanzania and from Copenhagen.
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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Big Daddy Kane to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Section 25. All the underground hits.
All L. Decosne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispian St. Peters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Iggy Pop record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Gang Green,
Joe Smooth,
Lakeside,
The American Breed,
Can,
Zapp,
The Raincoats,
Sandy B,
Roxette,
Newcleus,
Aural Exciters,
Barry Ungar,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Smoke,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
the Swans,
Sugar Minott,
Marvin Gaye,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Arab on Radar,
The Walker Brothers,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Harry Pussy,
The Saints,
The Angels of Light,
Country Teasers,
Kevin Saunderson,
Intrusion,
8 Eyed Spy,
Monks,
Mad Mike,
Wasted Youth,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Tomorrow,
Excepter,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Alphaville,
Roy Ayers,
Crispy Ambulance,
Nils Olav,
The New Christs,
Sonny Sharrock,
JFA,
New York Dolls,
Matthew Bourne,
Tim Buckley,
Freddie Wadling,
X-101,
Joey Negro,
Sixth Finger,
The Electric Prunes,
Soft Cell,
Nas,
Jesper Dahlback,
Maleditus Sound,
Todd Rundgren,
Eurythmics,
the Association,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Human League,
Ten City, Ten City, Ten City, Ten City.
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.