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 Pakistan and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Jakarta.
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 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 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 Throbbing Gristle to the grime 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 Sixth Finger. All the underground hits.
All Camouflage tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Real Kids record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Move record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
DJ Style,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
8 Eyed Spy,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Saccharine Trust,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Frankie Knuckles,
Eve St. Jones,
Oneida,
Gang Gang Dance,
Mr. Review,
Al Stewart,
Duran Duran,
Davy DMX,
Albert Ayler,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Star Department,
Brothers Johnson,
Marshall Jefferson,
Organ,
Subhumans,
Rhythm & Sound,
Rosa Yemen,
the Bar-Kays,
Joe Smooth,
Todd Rundgren,
Soulsonic Force,
The Slackers,
Bill Near,
Robert Wyatt,
Lebanon Hanover,
Black Sheep,
Erasure,
the Soft Cell,
Tim Buckley,
The Flesh Eaters,
Thee Headcoats,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Michelle Simonal,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Swell Maps,
Nirvana,
Mad Mike,
Fela Kuti,
Alphaville,
Funky Four + One,
The Litter,
The Divine Comedy,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Silicon Teens,
Excepter,
Heaven 17,
Angry Samoans,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Minutemen,
Agitation Free,
Make Up,
Vladislav Delay,
Glenn Branca,
Crash Course in Science,
The Seeds,
The Barracudas,
Marmalade, Marmalade, Marmalade, Marmalade.
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.