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 Kuwait and from Portland.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Pussy Galore to the rock kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Little Man. All the underground hits.
All E-Dancer tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Adolescents 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Darondo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
It's A Beautiful Day,
Wally Richardson,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Scott Walker,
Robert Hood,
Glambeats Corp.,
Deadbeat,
Moebius,
Barclay James Harvest,
Dawn Penn,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Electric Prunes,
Kerri Chandler,
Eric B and Rakim,
David Axelrod,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Slave,
Sun City Girls,
the Association,
Stockholm Monsters,
Saccharine Trust,
Eric Dolphy,
Sugar Minott,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Deakin,
Barry Ungar,
D'Angelo,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Mantronix,
Accadde A,
Charles Mingus,
Von Mondo,
Steve Hackett,
Nirvana,
Tubeway Army,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Funkadelic,
The Red Krayola,
Schoolly D,
Amazonics,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Lou Christie,
Angry Samoans,
The Star Department,
Bush Tetras,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Ice-T,
Man Parrish,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Fatback Band,
Quando Quango,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Darondo,
Minnie Riperton,
The American Breed,
Lou Reed,
The Busters,
Sight & Sound,
The Fall,
Sonic Youth,
Hot Snakes,
Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt.
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.