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 Chad and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1960 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Sonic Youth to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 The Raincoats. All the underground hits.
All Eric B and Rakim tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sparks 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cheater Slicks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Offenders,
Rites of Spring,
The Flesh Eaters,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Gun Club,
Mission of Burma,
The Martian,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Byron Stingily,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Judy Mowatt,
Cal Tjader,
Jawbox,
Dorothy Ashby,
Henry Cow,
The Cure,
Tomorrow,
The Mummies,
MDC,
Tim Buckley,
The Vogues,
Fluxion,
Pole,
Altered Images,
the Association,
Graham Central Station,
Porter Ricks,
The Blues Magoos,
Stiv Bators,
Man Parrish,
Excepter,
Colin Newman,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Reagan Youth,
Pussy Galore,
Trumans Water,
kango's stein massive,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Eve St. Jones,
Guru Guru,
Kayak,
Royal Trux,
Thompson Twins,
The Names,
The Birthday Party,
Intrusion,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Schoolly D,
Cameo,
A Certain Ratio,
New Order,
Mad Mike,
E-Dancer,
Big Daddy Kane,
Adolescents,
Minutemen,
The Real Kids,
The Toasters,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Index, The Index, The Index, The Index.
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.