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 Costa Rica and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester 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 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 The Fall to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Sly & The Family Stone. All the underground hits.
All Henry Cow tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Piero Umiliani 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Donald Byrd,
Ten City,
Drexciya,
Marc Almond,
KRS-One,
Wasted Youth,
Freddie Wadling,
The Smiths,
Sun Ra,
The Gories,
L. Decosne,
Jesper Dahlback,
Kool Moe Dee,
Japan,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
John Lydon,
JFA,
The J.B.'s,
The Buckinghams,
ABBA,
Bobby Sherman,
The Monks,
Matthew Bourne,
This Heat,
Model 500,
Suicide,
The Doors,
Scott Walker,
Pierre Henry,
Wolf Eyes,
Peter & Gordon,
Pantaleimon,
Ronnie Foster,
Brothers Johnson,
Chris & Cosey,
The Sonics,
Q and Not U,
The Mummies,
Minnie Riperton,
Kurtis Blow,
La Düsseldorf,
Television,
Bronski Beat,
Terrestrial Tones,
Minutemen,
Duran Duran,
The Divine Comedy,
The Star Department,
Amazonics,
Graham Central Station,
Simply Red,
Godley & Creme,
Aswad,
Glenn Branca,
Jacob Miller,
Sixth Finger,
Eric Dolphy,
Siglo XX,
Roger Hodgson,
Mars,
Maleditus Sound,
Deadbeat,
Public Enemy, Public Enemy, Public Enemy, Public Enemy.
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.