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 Sierra Leone and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band to the techno kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 New Christs. All the underground hits.
All Eyeless In Gaza tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Thee Headcoats 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ice-T record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tropical Tobacco,
Suicide,
The Flesh Eaters,
Traffic Nightmare,
Liliput,
Pere Ubu,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Rotary Connection,
Livin' Joy,
Excepter,
Ituana,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
June Days,
Pet Shop Boys,
Faust,
Gil Scott Heron,
Jimmy McGriff,
Gang Starr,
Idris Muhammad,
The Velvet Underground,
The Invisible,
Depeche Mode,
The Cowsills,
Janne Schatter,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Marc Almond,
Jandek,
The Fugs,
Nick Fraelich,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
48th St. Collective,
Dead Boys,
The Star Department,
The Trojans,
Pharoah Sanders,
Public Image Ltd.,
Barbara Tucker,
Robert Wyatt,
Matthew Bourne,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Blancmange,
The Mojo Men,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Sly & The Family Stone,
the Slits,
Al Stewart,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Smoke,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Modern Lovers,
Eric Copeland,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Associates,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Robert Hood,
Porter Ricks,
Thompson Twins,
The Doors,
Index,
Rosa Yemen,
Ralphi Rosario,
Iggy Pop,
Bobby Byrd,
The Kinks, The Kinks, The Kinks, The Kinks.
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.