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 Brunei and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Blues Magoos. All the underground hits.
All Jerry's Kids tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sonic Youth record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sixth Finger record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crooked Eye,
Quando Quango,
Erykah Badu,
Sight & Sound,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Ultimate Spinach,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Byron Stingily,
Bush Tetras,
Electric Prunes,
Smog,
Grandmaster Flash,
Arcadia,
The Vogues,
Oblivians,
48th St. Collective,
Fugazi,
The Beau Brummels,
The Moody Blues,
The Detroit Cobras,
Country Teasers,
Mr. Review,
Wally Richardson,
The Cure,
Bauhaus,
Sun City Girls,
Excepter,
F. McDonald,
Brass Construction,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Ultravox,
Mo-Dettes,
Au Pairs,
Buzzcocks,
Lungfish,
Soul Sonic Force,
Gong,
Crash Course in Science,
B.T. Express,
Steve Hackett,
The Flesh Eaters,
Little Man,
Altered Images,
Barbara Tucker,
Danielle Patucci,
Bill Near,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Urselle,
Dark Day,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Japan,
The Doors,
John Cale,
Johnny Clarke,
Suburban Knight,
Kenny Larkin,
Kas Product,
Althea and Donna,
The Slackers,
Suicide,
Warsaw,
Wings, Wings, Wings, Wings.
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.