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 Ethiopia and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Piero Umiliani to the crunk 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 Traffic Nightmare. All the underground hits.
All PIL tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Whodini record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 sitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a B.T. Express record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Amazonics,
The Cowsills,
Charles Mingus,
The Martian,
Slave,
Guru Guru,
The Dirtbombs,
Cybotron,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Drexciya,
The Gladiators,
Scientists,
Gil Scott Heron,
Susan Cadogan,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Royal Trux,
Howard Jones,
Barrington Levy,
Graham Central Station,
Ludus,
Das Ding,
The Happenings,
Circle Jerks,
ABC,
John Cale,
Wings,
Sexual Harrassment,
Erykah Badu,
Pole,
Gabor Szabo,
The Durutti Column,
Judy Mowatt,
Toni Rubio,
Can,
Q65,
Main Source,
Ultra Naté,
Outsiders,
Boz Scaggs,
Derrick Morgan,
Fatback Band,
Crispian St. Peters,
Janne Schatter,
The Cramps,
Don Cherry,
Harry Pussy,
F. McDonald,
Zero Boys,
Brass Construction,
Robert Hood,
Ken Boothe,
Scion,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Bluetip,
the Sonics,
The Modern Lovers,
The Slackers,
Lou Reed,
H. Thieme, H. Thieme, H. Thieme, H. Thieme.
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.