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 Korea North and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 theremin 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 Oneida to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Offenders. All the underground hits.
All Underground Resistance tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every 48th St. Collective record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crash Course in Science record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
Goldenarms,
Big Daddy Kane,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Matthew Bourne,
Pantytec,
Delta 5,
Gastr Del Sol,
Angry Samoans,
Quadrant,
Minor Threat,
Essential Logic,
James Chance & The Contortions,
a-ha,
Sexual Harrassment,
Danielle Patucci,
Ultra Naté,
Ice-T,
Roxy Music,
Drexciya,
DNA,
Ash Ra Tempel,
James White and The Blacks,
Scientists,
Reagan Youth,
New Age Steppers,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Minnie Riperton,
Wire,
The Tremeloes,
KRS-One,
Desert Stars,
R.M.O.,
Barrington Levy,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Terry Callier,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Eden Ahbez,
the Bar-Kays,
The New Christs,
Mad Mike,
Bauhaus,
Boredoms,
Bang On A Can,
Schoolly D,
The Music Machine,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Dead C,
Stiv Bators,
The Fire Engines,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Susan Cadogan,
Archie Shepp,
Johnny Osbourne,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Crime,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Cowsills,
the Fania All-Stars,
Pagans,
Young Marble Giants,
U.S. Maple,
Oblivians,
Subhumans,
The Fall, The Fall, The Fall, The Fall.
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.