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 Egypt and from Mumbai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Johannesburg.
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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
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 Fire Engines to the punk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 48th St. Collective. All the underground hits.
All John Cale tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Royal Trux record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 harpsichord and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Smoke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Arthur Verocai,
The Fortunes,
Marmalade,
DNA,
DJ Sneak,
Sugar Minott,
Matthew Halsall,
Laurel Aitken,
Groovy Waters,
Q65,
The Flesh Eaters,
Harry Pussy,
Graham Central Station,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Surgeon,
The Martian,
Letta Mbulu,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Traffic Nightmare,
Unwound,
The Monks,
Dorothy Ashby,
Ralphi Rosario,
Juan Atkins,
Aural Exciters,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Alison Limerick,
Charles Mingus,
Quando Quango,
Lee Hazlewood,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Tomorrow,
Excepter,
Glambeats Corp.,
Eric B and Rakim,
World's Most,
Oblivians,
Make Up,
Mr. Review,
Fear,
Deepchord,
Shuggie Otis,
Maleditus Sound,
The Human League,
Al Stewart,
The Skatalites,
Monks,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Patti Smith,
Davy DMX,
Lebanon Hanover,
Lalo Schifrin,
Little Man,
Quantec,
Main Source,
Das Ding,
Fela Kuti,
Eyeless In Gaza, Eyeless In Gaza, Eyeless In Gaza, Eyeless In Gaza.
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.