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 Algeria and from London.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 sitar 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 Fuzztones to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 One Last Wish. All the underground hits.
All The Angels of Light tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Buzzcocks 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Buzzcocks,
Pantaleimon,
DNA,
Alison Limerick,
Sonic Youth,
Kerrie Biddell,
Faraquet,
Easy Going,
Scott Walker,
The Evens,
The Remains,
Kenny Larkin,
Lungfish,
Iggy Pop,
The Dirtbombs,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Cheater Slicks,
The Fortunes,
Roy Ayers,
Ronnie Foster,
Los Fastidios,
Kayak,
Joyce Sims,
Barry Ungar,
Infiniti,
Mary Jane Girls,
Sight & Sound,
The New Christs,
Fugazi,
Blossom Toes,
Fluxion,
Interpol,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
David Bowie,
Inner City,
Neil Young,
Jimmy McGriff,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Barclay James Harvest,
Stereo Dub,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Tim Buckley,
Marshall Jefferson,
Albert Ayler,
Quadrant,
Fear,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Soft Cell,
The Slits,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Last Poets,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Five Americans,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Robert Görl,
La Düsseldorf,
cv313,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Busters,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Monks,
R.M.O., R.M.O., R.M.O., R.M.O..
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.