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 Equatorial Guinea and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 organ 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 The Martian to the funk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Deadbeat. All the underground hits.
All Throbbing Gristle tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ronnie Foster record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Angels of Light record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Simply Red,
Half Japanese,
The Trojans,
Nas,
Ornette Coleman,
Rotary Connection,
The Zeros,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Blackbyrds,
Drive Like Jehu,
K-Klass,
AZ,
Scott Walker,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Joe Smooth,
Faust,
Harpers Bizarre,
Model 500,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Leaves,
Tim Buckley,
The Sonics,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Judy Mowatt,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Franke,
The Young Rascals,
Inner City,
Joyce Sims,
Harmonia,
Grauzone,
These Immortal Souls,
The Moleskins,
the Human League,
Colin Newman,
The Seeds,
Bush Tetras,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Bootsy Collins,
Glambeats Corp.,
Television Personalities,
Lower 48,
EPMD,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Kool Moe Dee,
Janne Schatter,
Matthew Bourne,
Rites of Spring,
The American Breed,
A Certain Ratio,
Index,
Albert Ayler,
Mars,
Swans,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Dawn Penn,
MDC,
The Detroit Cobras,
Gabor Szabo,
Grandmaster Flash,
Crispian St. Peters,
KRS-One, KRS-One, KRS-One, KRS-One.
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.