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 East Timor and from Milan.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the sitar 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 Gian Franco Pienzio to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Ohio Players. All the underground hits.
All Scott Walker + Sunn O))) tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Niagra 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bluetip,
Surgeon,
Gil Scott Heron,
The New Christs,
Panda Bear,
Metal Thangz,
Hasil Adkins,
Interpol,
T.S.O.L.,
Trumans Water,
Magazine,
The Pretty Things,
Big Daddy Kane,
Mission of Burma,
Cecil Taylor,
The Music Machine,
Index,
Mad Mike,
Soft Cell,
The Index,
Henry Cow,
The Red Krayola,
Ronan,
Vainqueur,
Cluster,
Rosa Yemen,
T. Rex,
Hashim,
Anthony Braxton,
The Misunderstood,
The Searchers,
Von Mondo,
Bizarre Inc.,
Pierre Henry,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Television,
Dorothy Ashby,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Motions,
The Last Poets,
Circle Jerks,
Sugar Minott,
Jeff Lynne,
Idris Muhammad,
The Dirtbombs,
Royal Trux,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Jeru the Damaja,
48th St. Collective,
Letta Mbulu,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Blake Baxter,
The J.B.'s,
The Names,
The Happenings,
Eden Ahbez,
R.M.O.,
Vladislav Delay,
The Cowsills,
Crash Course in Science,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Moleskins,
Ludus,
Tubeway Army,
Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox, Ultravox.
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.