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 Trinidad & Tobago and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 clarinet 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 Dark Day to the electroclash 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 kango's stein massive. All the underground hits.
All Tropical Tobacco tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dorothy Ashby record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 harpsichord and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Joyce Sims record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Inner City,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Ossler,
Eddi Front,
X-Ray Spex,
The Selecter,
Robert Hood,
The Mummies,
JFA,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Flash Fearless,
The Litter,
K-Klass,
Radiohead,
The Vogues,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Blake Baxter,
The Doors,
Brass Construction,
Warsaw,
The Velvet Underground,
48th St. Collective,
Bobby Sherman,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Morten Harket,
Steve Hackett,
Gang of Four,
This Heat,
Laurel Aitken,
The Kinks,
Bobby Womack,
Anakelly,
Funky Four + One,
Bluetip,
Carl Craig,
Judy Mowatt,
Derrick May,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The New Christs,
U.S. Maple,
Crooked Eye,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Soul II Soul,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Smiths,
Guru Guru,
Black Bananas,
Amon Düül,
The Wake,
Pere Ubu,
Mo-Dettes,
the Slits,
Mad Mike,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Techniques,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Eric B and Rakim,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Arthur Verocai, Arthur Verocai, Arthur Verocai, Arthur Verocai.
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.