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 Mexico and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Teenage Jesus and the Jerks to the rap 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 the Sonics. All the underground hits.
All Glambeats Corp. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Easy Going record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Johnny Clarke,
Lower 48,
Big Daddy Kane,
Archie Shepp,
a-ha,
Mars,
Ludus,
Crash Course in Science,
This Heat,
Henry Cow,
Skriet,
Pantaleimon,
Connie Case,
Throbbing Gristle,
Lou Reed,
Soft Cell,
The Divine Comedy,
Underground Resistance,
Black Bananas,
Kas Product,
Erasure,
Suburban Knight,
The Associates,
Groovy Waters,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Desert Stars,
Jawbox,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Laurel Aitken,
Khruangbin,
Alton Ellis,
Judy Mowatt,
Traffic Nightmare,
Slick Rick,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Young Rascals,
The Real Kids,
Arthur Verocai,
Technova,
Thee Headcoats,
Blossom Toes,
Pussy Galore,
Lalann,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Sound Behaviour,
Rufus Thomas,
The Fuzztones,
The Raincoats,
Icehouse,
The Fall,
Radio Birdman,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Pylon,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Patti Smith,
Gabor Szabo,
Mission of Burma,
Franke,
Matthew Halsall,
The Blues Magoos,
Bill Wells, Bill Wells, Bill Wells, Bill Wells.
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.