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 Zambia and from Bremen.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Harmonia to the rap 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 Robert Görl. All the underground hits.
All Average White Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every London Community Gospel Choir record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a synthesizer 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 organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
T.S.O.L.,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Franke,
Deepchord,
Tres Demented,
Peter & Gordon,
The Move,
LL Cool J,
John Cale,
Sarah Menescal,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Morten Harket,
The Young Rascals,
Heaven 17,
Kerrie Biddell,
Monolake,
Brothers Johnson,
48th St. Collective,
Joyce Sims,
Tomorrow,
Throbbing Gristle,
Supertramp,
Visage,
Boredoms,
The Barracudas,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Roy Ayers,
Thee Headcoats,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Mojo Men,
Althea and Donna,
X-Ray Spex,
Gang Starr,
Bronski Beat,
Lou Reed,
The Invisible,
Sun City Girls,
Shoche,
the Fania All-Stars,
Jimmy McGriff,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Curtis Mayfield,
Porter Ricks,
Kenny Larkin,
Ronan,
Adolescents,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Janne Schatter,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Barrington Levy,
Can,
Pantytec,
Stockholm Monsters,
ABBA,
Skarface,
Soul II Soul,
Von Mondo,
H. Thieme,
The Fugs,
The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos.
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.