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 Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 The Buckinghams to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Rod Modell. All the underground hits.
All The Dirtbombs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pierre Henry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mad Mike record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minutemen,
Traffic Nightmare,
the Bar-Kays,
Dennis Brown,
Can,
8 Eyed Spy,
Isaac Hayes,
L. Decosne,
Robert Wyatt,
Marmalade,
Sarah Menescal,
Theoretical Girls,
Ultimate Spinach,
Stereo Dub,
Wally Richardson,
the Association,
EPMD,
Quantec,
Moss Icon,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Delta 5,
Donny Hathaway,
Kayak,
Sexual Harrassment,
Davy DMX,
Wasted Youth,
New Age Steppers,
Scrapy,
The Dirtbombs,
F. McDonald,
Marine Girls,
The Blues Magoos,
Severed Heads,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Grandmaster Flash,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Tommy Roe,
Easy Going,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Outsiders,
Skriet,
Goldenarms,
Wolf Eyes,
James White and The Blacks,
Howard Jones,
Gabor Szabo,
Scott Walker,
The Gories,
Public Enemy,
Erasure,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Marcia Griffiths,
Subhumans,
Prince Buster,
Alphaville,
Jeff Lynne,
Bizarre Inc.,
Matthew Bourne,
Donald Byrd, Donald Byrd, Donald Byrd, Donald Byrd.
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.