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 India and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 harpsichord 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 Crime to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Surgeon. All the underground hits.
All Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Moebius 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Tremeloes,
The Smoke,
Mark Hollis,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Eden Ahbez,
Flipper,
Rufus Thomas,
Fluxion,
Saccharine Trust,
Motorama,
Lower 48,
Girls At Our Best!,
Alice Coltrane,
Alphaville,
The Dirtbombs,
Patti Smith,
The Young Rascals,
Spandau Ballet,
The J.B.'s,
Black Pus,
Soul Sonic Force,
Tears for Fears,
Crooked Eye,
Reuben Wilson,
Eddi Front,
Nils Olav,
Donny Hathaway,
Sarah Menescal,
Icehouse,
Derrick Morgan,
Minny Pops,
Gang of Four,
E-Dancer,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Kinks,
Country Teasers,
Royal Trux,
Lakeside,
Circle Jerks,
The Gun Club,
Grandmaster Flash,
Ken Boothe,
Fort Wilson Riot,
June of 44,
Masters at Work,
Danielle Patucci,
Althea and Donna,
Minor Threat,
48th St. Collective,
Rites of Spring,
Bill Near,
The Barracudas,
PIL,
Rotary Connection,
Animal Collective,
Flash Fearless,
Faraquet,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Mission of Burma,
Lyres,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
John Lydon, John Lydon, John Lydon, John Lydon.
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.