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 Tanzania and from Lille.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Eve St. Jones to the crunk 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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch. All the underground hits.
All Michelle Simonal tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Minny Pops 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Wake record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ronnie Foster,
Soulsonic Force,
John Coltrane,
The Raincoats,
The Happenings,
Excepter,
Roger Hodgson,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Underground Resistance,
The Blues Magoos,
The Victims,
John Holt,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
the Association,
Stereo Dub,
Icehouse,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Stockholm Monsters,
Smog,
Suburban Knight,
The Doors,
Bobby Sherman,
Sight & Sound,
New York Dolls,
Warsaw,
The Vogues,
Bill Wells,
Bootsy Collins,
Boogie Down Productions,
Roxette,
The Neon Judgement,
Theoretical Girls,
Nirvana,
Hardrive,
Liliput,
Model 500,
EPMD,
Scratch Acid,
Swans,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Erasure,
Kerri Chandler,
ABBA,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Scientists,
Organ,
Silicon Teens,
Soft Cell,
John Lydon,
Harmonia,
Jeru the Damaja,
Peter & Gordon,
Circle Jerks,
Sam Rivers,
The New Christs,
The Sound,
Goldenarms,
Mo-Dettes,
Quantec,
Dead Boys,
Pere Ubu,
UT, UT, UT, UT.
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.