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 Papua New Guinea and from Tehran.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Kings Of Tomorrow to the grunge 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 Trumans Water. All the underground hits.
All Teenage Jesus and the Jerks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Oneida 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Aswad record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wasted Youth,
the Germs,
Kurtis Blow,
Marmalade,
Cabaret Voltaire,
10cc,
Shuggie Otis,
Metal Thangz,
Half Japanese,
The Modern Lovers,
Gerry Rafferty,
Arcadia,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Barclay James Harvest,
Hasil Adkins,
The Mojo Men,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Lyres,
Chrome,
Sex Pistols,
The Invisible,
Charles Mingus,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Black Flag,
June of 44,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Absolute Body Control,
Masters at Work,
Johnny Clarke,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Donny Hathaway,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
John Lydon,
Be Bop Deluxe,
the Human League,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Bootsy Collins,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Neu!,
Quantec,
One Last Wish,
Funkadelic,
Nik Kershaw,
K-Klass,
ABBA,
Icehouse,
the Slits,
Visage,
Flamin' Groovies,
cv313,
Joe Finger,
Curtis Mayfield,
Yusef Lateef,
Josef K,
Blancmange,
Lalann,
David Bowie,
Neil Young,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Smog, Smog, Smog, Smog.
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.