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 Burkina and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Prince Buster to the funk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Mr. Review. All the underground hits.
All Major Organ And The Adding Machine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Cale record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Dawn Penn,
Harry Pussy,
Fatback Band,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Grey Daturas,
Banda Bassotti,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Babytalk,
Fluxion,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Standells,
Marcia Griffiths,
Bobby Sherman,
Can,
Lebanon Hanover,
Eric Copeland,
The Toasters,
Joe Smooth,
Man Parrish,
Crooked Eye,
Arcadia,
Reuben Wilson,
Al Stewart,
Tears for Fears,
Symarip,
Clear Light,
Audionom,
Y Pants,
Danielle Patucci,
Roxy Music,
Robert Görl,
Pylon,
Mars,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
John Lydon,
Echospace,
The Evens,
Altered Images,
The Gap Band,
Brick,
The Searchers,
Robert Hood,
Intrusion,
Jeru the Damaja,
the Association,
Public Image Ltd.,
Aural Exciters,
Alison Limerick,
Ronan,
Ronnie Foster,
Sam Rivers,
Lungfish,
Marine Girls,
The J.B.'s,
The Blackbyrds,
Bizarre Inc.,
Black Sheep,
John Holt,
Jesper Dahlback,
Warsaw,
X-101, X-101, X-101, X-101.
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.