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 Italy and from Seoul.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Charles Mingus to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Scott Walker. All the underground hits.
All Grandmaster Flash tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Joey Negro record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Kinks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tom Boy,
Symarip,
Ken Boothe,
Yellowson,
Young Marble Giants,
Mark Hollis,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Tropical Tobacco,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Big Daddy Kane,
Hot Snakes,
Lightning Bolt,
Leonard Cohen,
Monolake,
Thee Headcoats,
Vainqueur,
Underground Resistance,
Cluster,
Nils Olav,
Robert Hood,
Sixth Finger,
Magma,
Nick Fraelich,
Section 25,
ABC,
Judy Mowatt,
Maurizio,
Aswad,
Bush Tetras,
Colin Newman,
Arthur Verocai,
Panda Bear,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Parry Music,
Camouflage,
Radio Birdman,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Bill Near,
Harpers Bizarre,
Gang Green,
Second Layer,
Crispian St. Peters,
Technova,
Pussy Galore,
Deepchord,
Livin' Joy,
Chrome,
The Stooges,
The Techniques,
Marc Almond,
Fat Boys,
Ronnie Foster,
The Electric Prunes,
Sex Pistols,
CMW,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Iggy Pop,
The Detroit Cobras,
Yaz,
The Wake,
Ultravox,
Bobby Byrd, Bobby Byrd, Bobby Byrd, Bobby Byrd.
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.