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 Equatorial Guinea and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Unrelated Segments to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 The Shadows of Knight. All the underground hits.
All Grandmaster Flash tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nik Kershaw 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fugs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultravox,
Public Image Ltd.,
Fugazi,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Das Ding,
Gong,
Kurtis Blow,
The Blues Magoos,
The Electric Prunes,
Radio Birdman,
Godley & Creme,
Y Pants,
Bizarre Inc.,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Sister Nancy,
The Evens,
The Moleskins,
Nils Olav,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Max Romeo,
Cymande,
Whodini,
Bobby Sherman,
David Axelrod,
Arthur Verocai,
Swell Maps,
The Barracudas,
Royal Trux,
the Normal,
Barry Ungar,
Television Personalities,
Faust,
Throbbing Gristle,
Funky Four + One,
R.M.O.,
Khruangbin,
Bootsy Collins,
Drexciya,
Cheater Slicks,
Animal Collective,
Spandau Ballet,
Black Pus,
Yazoo,
Maleditus Sound,
Deadbeat,
Rufus Thomas,
James White and The Blacks,
Lalann,
Ultra Naté,
Tears for Fears,
Lyres,
The Gladiators,
The Real Kids,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Alphaville,
Boredoms,
Los Fastidios,
The Star Department,
Wally Richardson,
The Grass Roots,
The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters.
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.