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 Honduras and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 oboe 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 Toni Rubio to the rock kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Youth Brigade. All the underground hits.
All Throbbing Gristle tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Young Rascals record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masters at Work record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Stiv Bators,
Quadrant,
Desert Stars,
Jacques Brel,
Public Enemy,
The Blues Magoos,
Alice Coltrane,
The Last Poets,
Soul II Soul,
Arcadia,
Alton Ellis,
the Slits,
Bronski Beat,
Franke,
Rapeman,
The Grass Roots,
Mary Jane Girls,
Connie Case,
Boredoms,
Janne Schatter,
U.S. Maple,
Lou Christie,
F. McDonald,
The Fortunes,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
K-Klass,
Traffic Nightmare,
Gregory Isaacs,
Andrew Hill,
Altered Images,
Chrome,
Pylon,
The Saints,
These Immortal Souls,
Fatback Band,
Aaron Thompson,
Cecil Taylor,
a-ha,
The Mojo Men,
June Days,
Talk Talk,
Thee Headcoats,
Jeru the Damaja,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Massinfluence,
The Fugs,
David McCallum,
John Holt,
Judy Mowatt,
Marine Girls,
Severed Heads,
Dennis Brown,
The Neon Judgement,
Average White Band,
Pere Ubu,
Kerri Chandler,
Fela Kuti,
Scrapy,
Bang On A Can,
The Dead C,
Duran Duran,
Sixth Finger,
Ash Ra Tempel, Ash Ra Tempel, Ash Ra Tempel, Ash Ra Tempel.
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.