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 the UAE and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 James Chance & The Contortions to the dance 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 The Count Five. All the underground hits.
All Severed Heads tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Glambeats Corp. 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ultravox record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pantytec,
Das Ding,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Selecter,
Boz Scaggs,
Bauhaus,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Khruangbin,
Ten City,
Cal Tjader,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Wasted Youth,
Michelle Simonal,
L. Decosne,
Duran Duran,
Tom Boy,
Kayak,
Sam Rivers,
Graham Central Station,
The Misunderstood,
Rod Modell,
The Searchers,
Barrington Levy,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Matthew Bourne,
The Neon Judgement,
The Fortunes,
kango's stein massive,
F. McDonald,
Jerry's Kids,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Victims,
Bill Near,
Junior Murvin,
Dawn Penn,
LL Cool J,
Jacques Brel,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Five Americans,
Magma,
Drexciya,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
La Düsseldorf,
Max Romeo,
X-101,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Josef K,
Archie Shepp,
Kool Moe Dee,
Robert Görl,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Stockholm Monsters,
Grey Daturas,
The Pretty Things,
cv313,
The Beau Brummels,
Scratch Acid,
OOIOO,
Slick Rick,
Cameo,
Joey Negro,
Minutemen,
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, Suicide.
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.