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 Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1969 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Visage to the disco kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Byron Stingily. All the underground hits.
All Saccharine Trust tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Richard Hell and the Voidoids record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Saints record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kevin Saunderson,
The Selecter,
New York Dolls,
The Dave Clark Five,
Depeche Mode,
Blake Baxter,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Eli Mardock,
The Kinks,
UT,
Tropical Tobacco,
Mr. Review,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
the Swans,
Livin' Joy,
Visage,
X-102,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
CMW,
Glenn Branca,
Dark Day,
Saccharine Trust,
Cybotron,
Jacques Brel,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Flipper,
Eric B and Rakim,
Fad Gadget,
Sandy B,
Robert Hood,
8 Eyed Spy,
Joy Division,
David Bowie,
a-ha,
Charles Mingus,
the Association,
Reagan Youth,
Eddi Front,
the Normal,
Lalann,
Bill Near,
Aswad,
Matthew Bourne,
Y Pants,
The Move,
Lou Christie,
Silicon Teens,
Yellowson,
Popol Vuh,
Boredoms,
Rotary Connection,
Sound Behaviour,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Letta Mbulu,
Curtis Mayfield,
Patti Smith,
Matthew Halsall,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Reuben Wilson,
ABBA,
Godley & Creme,
Gong,
Suburban Knight, Suburban Knight, Suburban Knight, Suburban Knight.
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.