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 Yemen and from Lille.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the snare 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 Popol Vuh to the funk 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 Scott Walker + Sunn O))). All the underground hits.
All Tim Buckley tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cameo 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispian St. Peters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Man Parrish,
Cecil Taylor,
Panda Bear,
The Pop Group,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Talk Talk,
The Blackbyrds,
Smog,
Johnny Clarke,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Dennis Brown,
Eden Ahbez,
Cluster,
John Cale,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Walker Brothers,
Sixth Finger,
Agitation Free,
Stockholm Monsters,
Crispian St. Peters,
Das Ding,
the Soft Cell,
Alison Limerick,
Con Funk Shun,
The Martian,
Franke,
Wasted Youth,
Echospace,
New York Dolls,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Drive Like Jehu,
Mary Jane Girls,
Reagan Youth,
Bill Wells,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Sam Rivers,
The Dirtbombs,
Metal Thangz,
Bronski Beat,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Camouflage,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Steve Hackett,
Scion,
The Red Krayola,
Arcadia,
The Last Poets,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Agent Orange,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
L. Decosne,
The Evens,
The Kinks,
the Swans,
The Gories,
Fluxion,
Make Up,
Henry Cow,
Kayak,
The Real Kids,
FM Einheit,
Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment.
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.