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 Saudi Arabia and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 guitar 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 Kerri Chandler to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Siouxsie and the Banshees. All the underground hits.
All Harry Pussy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The United States of America 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Stooges record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Evens,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Smiths,
PIL,
Althea and Donna,
Severed Heads,
Desert Stars,
The American Breed,
Gang Green,
Gabor Szabo,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
The Vogues,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
D'Angelo,
Fatback Band,
Smog,
Bang On A Can,
Porter Ricks,
The Monks,
Jacques Brel,
Connie Case,
David Axelrod,
Mars,
The Kinks,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Swell Maps,
Main Source,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Qualms,
Nation of Ulysses,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
K-Klass,
Wasted Youth,
Grandmaster Flash,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Archie Shepp,
Thompson Twins,
Magma,
Tim Buckley,
The Remains,
Jeff Lynne,
Prince Buster,
Fela Kuti,
Cybotron,
Kayak,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Real Kids,
Dual Sessions,
John Lydon,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Pulsallama,
Sonny Sharrock,
Oblivians,
Ten City,
Duran Duran,
Kurtis Blow,
Inner City, Inner City, Inner City, Inner City.
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.