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 Lesotho and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Moody Blues to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Agitation Free. All the underground hits.
All Susan Cadogan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ornette Coleman record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Mummies record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Depeche Mode,
Desert Stars,
Severed Heads,
Traffic Nightmare,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Lebanon Hanover,
Ultimate Spinach,
Black Pus,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
48th St. Collective,
Au Pairs,
the Germs,
Circle Jerks,
Toni Rubio,
Fugazi,
The Kinks,
The Blackbyrds,
Smog,
Laurel Aitken,
The Walker Brothers,
Terrestrial Tones,
Bang On A Can,
Wings,
Excepter,
Bill Wells,
Fatback Band,
The Move,
The Knickerbockers,
Juan Atkins,
Sandy B,
Mantronix,
Barrington Levy,
Bobby Sherman,
The Buckinghams,
T. Rex,
Kurtis Blow,
Byron Stingily,
Unwound,
The Divine Comedy,
Alphaville,
Minny Pops,
Swell Maps,
Barry Ungar,
Cameo,
Schoolly D,
Jacob Miller,
Donny Hathaway,
Soulsonic Force,
Eve St. Jones,
Lou Christie,
Glenn Branca,
The Shadows of Knight,
A Flock of Seagulls,
FM Einheit,
Anthony Braxton,
Gerry Rafferty,
Fad Gadget,
Boredoms,
Sex Pistols,
Radiopuhelimet, Radiopuhelimet, Radiopuhelimet, Radiopuhelimet.
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.