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 Costa Rica and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Delhi.
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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Patti Smith to the funk 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 Ultravox. All the underground hits.
All Eric Copeland tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eli Mardock record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 guitar and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The New Christs,
Mandrill,
The Divine Comedy,
The Wake,
Accadde A,
Theoretical Girls,
Livin' Joy,
Traffic Nightmare,
Masters at Work,
Piero Umiliani,
The Slits,
Talk Talk,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Cluster,
The Saints,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Five Americans,
The Birthday Party,
Pylon,
Cybotron,
James White and The Blacks,
Organ,
Ice-T,
Cal Tjader,
Essential Logic,
Niagra,
Buzzcocks,
The Flesh Eaters,
Dead Boys,
cv313,
Adolescents,
Maleditus Sound,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Glambeats Corp.,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Ken Boothe,
The Fortunes,
Wire,
Dark Day,
The Knickerbockers,
Eve St. Jones,
Nik Kershaw,
T. Rex,
Model 500,
The Electric Prunes,
Gang Green,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Modern Lovers,
Minutemen,
Carl Craig,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
One Last Wish,
H. Thieme,
Harpers Bizarre,
AZ,
Lindisfarne,
Alphaville,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Matthew Halsall,
Quadrant,
JFA,
The Victims,
the Human League, the Human League, the Human League, the Human League.
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.