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 Macedonia and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 snare 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 Crispian St. Peters to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Joy Division. All the underground hits.
All The Peanut Butter Conspiracy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sound Behaviour 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Electric Prunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Thompson Twins,
Spandau Ballet,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
DNA,
the Sonics,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Sixth Finger,
Bootsy Collins,
Jandek,
The Black Dice,
Audionom,
Blake Baxter,
Stetsasonic,
Roxette,
Shoche,
Saccharine Trust,
David Axelrod,
Gichy Dan,
Eve St. Jones,
Mandrill,
E-Dancer,
The J.B.'s,
Yusef Lateef,
Kurtis Blow,
The Blues Magoos,
MC5,
The Zeros,
Sparks,
Gil Scott Heron,
Index,
Glambeats Corp.,
the Association,
Lyres,
Q and Not U,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Pretty Things,
Von Mondo,
Deadbeat,
Maleditus Sound,
Dark Day,
Reuben Wilson,
Magazine,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Leaves,
The Young Rascals,
F. McDonald,
Main Source,
Jawbox,
The Red Krayola,
The Vogues,
The Real Kids,
Soft Machine,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Thee Headcoats,
The Star Department,
Peter & Gordon,
Blancmange,
The Litter,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Robert Hood,
The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs.
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.