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 Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Kerrie Biddell to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Neil Young & Crazy Horse. All the underground hits.
All Lizzy Mercier Descloux tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every This Heat record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pantaleimon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dark Day,
Soft Cell,
June of 44,
The Searchers,
Mars,
John Foxx,
Mr. Review,
Avey Tare,
Cybotron,
The Moleskins,
Scion,
Jacob Miller,
Lebanon Hanover,
Vladislav Delay,
Magazine,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Radiohead,
Symarip,
Pharoah Sanders,
Franke,
Rakim,
The Electric Prunes,
Sister Nancy,
Minnie Riperton,
Johnny Clarke,
Terrestrial Tones,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Bauhaus,
Los Fastidios,
Interpol,
Accadde A,
Ludus,
MC5,
The Black Dice,
Anthony Braxton,
Cheater Slicks,
Barrington Levy,
Leonard Cohen,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Martian,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Groovy Waters,
Blake Baxter,
Bobby Sherman,
Make Up,
Mission of Burma,
Rufus Thomas,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Blackbyrds,
Rotary Connection,
The Doobie Brothers,
Masters at Work,
Flamin' Groovies,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Gap Band,
Idris Muhammad,
Derrick Morgan,
Janne Schatter,
Faraquet,
Maleditus Sound,
Lalo Schifrin,
Wings, Wings, Wings, Wings.
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.