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 Kenya and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the theremin 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 New York Dolls to the rap kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Curtis Mayfield. All the underground hits.
All Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nik Kershaw record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bronski Beat record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cure,
The Detroit Cobras,
Glambeats Corp.,
DNA,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Tubeway Army,
Lyres,
Suburban Knight,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Depeche Mode,
Japan,
The Fugs,
New Age Steppers,
Letta Mbulu,
The Blackbyrds,
Livin' Joy,
Groovy Waters,
Easy Going,
Bush Tetras,
Gil Scott Heron,
Stereo Dub,
Accadde A,
Aloha Tigers,
JFA,
Albert Ayler,
Black Moon,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Whodini,
Archie Shepp,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Jacob Miller,
Minor Threat,
Ten City,
Das Ding,
The Velvet Underground,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Swell Maps,
The Fire Engines,
Saccharine Trust,
Janne Schatter,
The Dave Clark Five,
Sugar Minott,
Joyce Sims,
The Smiths,
Mad Mike,
Iggy Pop,
Prince Buster,
Jeru the Damaja,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Lakeside,
Sun Ra,
The Electric Prunes,
The Misunderstood,
The Mighty Diamonds,
F. McDonald,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Anakelly,
Black Pus,
Nas,
X-Ray Spex,
Maurizio,
The Dirtbombs,
Vainqueur,
Unwound, Unwound, Unwound, Unwound.
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.