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 Switzerland and from Tokyo.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Mumbai.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the mellotron 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 The Last Poets to the funk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Jacques Brel. All the underground hits.
All Funky Four + One tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Roger Hodgson 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sad Lovers and Giants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
ABC,
The Happenings,
Boz Scaggs,
The Misunderstood,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Television,
James White and The Blacks,
Swans,
X-Ray Spex,
Alison Limerick,
Grandmaster Flash,
Todd Rundgren,
Tres Demented,
Pet Shop Boys,
Terrestrial Tones,
Zero Boys,
Cheater Slicks,
The Golliwogs,
Donny Hathaway,
Radiopuhelimet,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
China Crisis,
Jerry's Kids,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Tremeloes,
Sexual Harrassment,
Black Moon,
CMW,
Bobby Byrd,
Juan Atkins,
LL Cool J,
Albert Ayler,
Donald Byrd,
The Walker Brothers,
Connie Case,
The Victims,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Litter,
Minnie Riperton,
The Sonics,
Jesper Dahlback,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Leonard Cohen,
The Last Poets,
Gabor Szabo,
Black Bananas,
Yellowson,
Lee Hazlewood,
Wolf Eyes,
Josef K,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Martian,
Big Daddy Kane,
Nirvana,
Kurtis Blow,
Warren Ellis,
Unwound,
Jeff Lynne,
Bluetip,
H. Thieme,
Stockholm Monsters,
Traffic Nightmare, Traffic Nightmare, Traffic Nightmare, Traffic Nightmare.
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.