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 Rwanda and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1960 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 spring reverb 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 The Royal Family And The Poor to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Andrew Hill. All the underground hits.
All Gang Starr tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Shoche record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 a spring reverb and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Remains,
Young Marble Giants,
Mark Hollis,
Kerri Chandler,
Marcia Griffiths,
Echospace,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Fall,
Cal Tjader,
Bobby Sherman,
The Flesh Eaters,
Dawn Penn,
Whodini,
Rekid,
Spandau Ballet,
The Standells,
This Heat,
The Cowsills,
A Certain Ratio,
Flash Fearless,
Wolf Eyes,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Connie Case,
Second Layer,
Goldenarms,
Livin' Joy,
The Durutti Column,
The Gories,
Sandy B,
Jeff Lynne,
Monolake,
PIL,
Mars,
Urselle,
The Toasters,
The Cramps,
Erasure,
Ultimate Spinach,
Carl Craig,
Eli Mardock,
Mantronix,
Lalo Schifrin,
Roger Hodgson,
Bluetip,
Letta Mbulu,
Bauhaus,
Pussy Galore,
Roy Ayers,
Blossom Toes,
Pantaleimon,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Skatalites,
Scratch Acid,
Joe Smooth,
Con Funk Shun,
The Angels of Light,
Amon Düül II,
Bush Tetras,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Eddi Front,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.