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 Ghana and from Lyon.
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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band to the rock kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Association. All the underground hits.
All The Knickerbockers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Doors record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Joy Division record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Gories,
ABC,
Letta Mbulu,
Q and Not U,
Alphaville,
The Flesh Eaters,
Excepter,
Brass Construction,
Sonny Sharrock,
Todd Terry,
Young Marble Giants,
Al Stewart,
Outsiders,
The Detroit Cobras,
Arab on Radar,
Gerry Rafferty,
Sun City Girls,
Steve Hackett,
The Trojans,
H. Thieme,
Japan,
Half Japanese,
Dorothy Ashby,
Mark Hollis,
Eric Dolphy,
The Slackers,
Marshall Jefferson,
Basic Channel,
Neil Young,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Hoover,
The American Breed,
New Age Steppers,
Visage,
Flipper,
Davy DMX,
the Bar-Kays,
Brick,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Durutti Column,
Eurythmics,
Pagans,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Fluxion,
Black Bananas,
Mad Mike,
Derrick May,
Boogie Down Productions,
June of 44,
The New Christs,
Ossler,
Soul Sonic Force,
Darondo,
Magazine,
Organ,
Scientists,
The Selecter,
Boredoms,
Black Sheep,
Fear,
Procol Harum,
Nas, Nas, Nas, Nas.
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.