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 Mauritania and from Calgary.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Adolescents to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Liaisons Dangereuses record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 an arpeggiator and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Slick Rick record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Josef K,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Velvet Underground,
the Sonics,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
B.T. Express,
The Leaves,
Sam Rivers,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Litter,
World's Most,
F. McDonald,
The Barracudas,
Black Moon,
Icehouse,
Soul II Soul,
The Human League,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Offenders,
Davy DMX,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Neu!,
Inner City,
Stetsasonic,
Ralphi Rosario,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Tremeloes,
Ituana,
JFA,
Rekid,
Robert Wyatt,
Eli Mardock,
Sixth Finger,
Lou Reed,
Warsaw,
Laurel Aitken,
The Vogues,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Slave,
The Mojo Men,
Jacques Brel,
Loose Ends,
Accadde A,
Kas Product,
Godley & Creme,
Marcia Griffiths,
Parry Music,
Bobby Womack,
Funky Four + One,
Echospace,
The Birthday Party,
Man Eating Sloth,
Swell Maps,
Alison Limerick,
the Human League,
Khruangbin,
Young Marble Giants,
The Motions,
Matthew Halsall,
Scrapy, Scrapy, Scrapy, Scrapy.
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.