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 Maldives and from New York.
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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Tremeloes to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Judy Mowatt. All the underground hits.
All The Raincoats tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Subhumans record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Andrew Hill record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angry Samoans,
Moebius,
the Germs,
Malaria!,
The United States of America,
The Misunderstood,
The Martian,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Yellowson,
Monks,
Youth Brigade,
Man Parrish,
Duran Duran,
The Electric Prunes,
The Cramps,
Boogie Down Productions,
Depeche Mode,
This Heat,
Tears for Fears,
Bill Wells,
The Mummies,
Subhumans,
Pussy Galore,
The Moody Blues,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Pet Shop Boys,
Pulsallama,
Wolf Eyes,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Royal Trux,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Hardrive,
Bang On A Can,
Derrick May,
Albert Ayler,
Pylon,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
the Slits,
U.S. Maple,
Black Moon,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Aloha Tigers,
One Last Wish,
Alphaville,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Jacques Brel,
the Swans,
Cheater Slicks,
Whodini,
The Zeros,
The Modern Lovers,
Joyce Sims,
The Gories,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
John Holt,
Eurythmics,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Girls At Our Best!,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Rufus Thomas,
The Five Americans,
Throbbing Gristle,
Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat.
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.