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 Ivory Coast and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Seoul.
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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Vaughan Mason & Crew to the punk 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 Angry Samoans. All the underground hits.
All Ten City tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Leaves record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Average White Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Trojans,
Sex Pistols,
Henry Cow,
Marine Girls,
Man Eating Sloth,
Loose Ends,
Kurtis Blow,
Royal Trux,
UT,
Joe Finger,
Marcia Griffiths,
Jesper Dahlback,
Deepchord,
Anthony Braxton,
The Stooges,
Wolf Eyes,
Infiniti,
Excepter,
The Velvet Underground,
Depeche Mode,
Inner City,
Rod Modell,
The New Christs,
Yellowson,
The Tremeloes,
Pantytec,
The Victims,
Lou Reed,
Minny Pops,
Buzzcocks,
T. Rex,
Iggy Pop,
Yaz,
Crash Course in Science,
Colin Newman,
June of 44,
Shoche,
Curtis Mayfield,
Supertramp,
Andrew Hill,
The Dirtbombs,
Wings,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Monks,
DJ Style,
Sandy B,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Robert Wyatt,
Joey Negro,
Donald Byrd,
Black Moon,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Technova,
Ice-T,
Severed Heads,
Organ,
Ornette Coleman,
Con Funk Shun,
The Cramps,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Darondo, Darondo, Darondo, Darondo.
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.