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 Cape Verde and from London.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Anthony Braxton to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Bootsy's Rubber Band. All the underground hits.
All Suicide tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sex Pistols 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Music Machine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oblivians,
Babytalk,
The Selecter,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Sonic Youth,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Pantaleimon,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Tremeloes,
Danielle Patucci,
Soft Cell,
Radiopuhelimet,
Flamin' Groovies,
Sound Behaviour,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Sun City Girls,
Nas,
The Invisible,
Television Personalities,
Brass Construction,
Eric Copeland,
Barclay James Harvest,
Scan 7,
Simply Red,
Shoche,
Liliput,
Stetsasonic,
The Searchers,
Rod Modell,
Average White Band,
The Flesh Eaters,
the Fania All-Stars,
Youth Brigade,
Glenn Branca,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Supertramp,
OOIOO,
The Fugs,
The Sisters of Mercy,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Kurtis Blow,
Yusef Lateef,
New York Dolls,
Henry Cow,
Drexciya,
Amazonics,
The Electric Prunes,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Quantec,
Donald Byrd,
Crispian St. Peters,
Skriet,
Sonny Sharrock,
Crime,
Ultravox,
Gerry Rafferty,
Prince Buster,
Josef K,
The Pretty Things,
The Offenders,
The Sonics,
Erasure, Erasure, Erasure, Erasure.
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.