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 Somalia and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the marimba 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 Q and Not U to the jazz 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 Ohio Players. All the underground hits.
All Pylon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every L. Decosne record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Walker Brothers,
The Moleskins,
Harry Pussy,
kango's stein massive,
The Star Department,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Mantronix,
Jeff Mills,
Index,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Amazonics,
The Remains,
Slave,
Unrelated Segments,
Tim Buckley,
Can,
Blossom Toes,
Vladislav Delay,
Theoretical Girls,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Kaleidoscope,
Slick Rick,
Pantaleimon,
DNA,
H. Thieme,
Panda Bear,
Jeff Lynne,
Crash Course in Science,
Skarface,
Minor Threat,
The Cure,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Sex Pistols,
the Bar-Kays,
La Düsseldorf,
Bang On A Can,
the Human League,
Wings,
Carl Craig,
Bob Dylan,
Grey Daturas,
Wasted Youth,
Toni Rubio,
The Last Poets,
Babytalk,
The Names,
Half Japanese,
Bill Wells,
Faust,
Eden Ahbez,
The Red Krayola,
Visage,
the Normal,
Yaz,
Easy Going,
Letta Mbulu,
Supertramp,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Bobby Womack, Bobby Womack, Bobby Womack, Bobby Womack.
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.