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 El Salvador and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1978.
I was there at the first Visage show in London.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Seoul.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Lou Reed & Metallica to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Panda Bear. All the underground hits.
All Lizzy Mercier Descloux tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Charles Mingus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 spring reverb and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tommy Roe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Funkadelic,
Echospace,
Patti Smith,
Panda Bear,
China Crisis,
La Düsseldorf,
Essential Logic,
Au Pairs,
Gang Gang Dance,
Dual Sessions,
Roy Ayers,
The Sound,
Byron Stingily,
Peter and Kerry,
Eddi Front,
The Blackbyrds,
Sun Ra,
Henry Cow,
Chrome,
Can,
Skriet,
Slick Rick,
Jerry's Kids,
Brothers Johnson,
Tommy Roe,
cv313,
Pussy Galore,
Bobby Sherman,
Vainqueur,
Juan Atkins,
Funky Four + One,
The Gladiators,
Black Moon,
The Raincoats,
Connie Case,
The Cowsills,
Silicon Teens,
Mary Jane Girls,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Music Machine,
Drexciya,
Icehouse,
Gang Green,
Minny Pops,
Scratch Acid,
Cymande,
Television,
Eric Copeland,
Section 25,
The Cure,
X-Ray Spex,
Todd Terry,
The Happenings,
Boredoms,
a-ha,
CMW,
Roxy Music,
Erykah Badu,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop.
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.