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 Croatia and from Delhi.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 rhodes 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 John Coltrane to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Marc Almond. All the underground hits.
All Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jeru the Damaja record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
Kool Moe Dee,
Boredoms,
The Standells,
The Saints,
The Tremeloes,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Dead C,
The Buckinghams,
Nick Fraelich,
The Moleskins,
Don Cherry,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Brass Construction,
Faust,
Agitation Free,
The Fall,
UT,
Radio Birdman,
Dawn Penn,
Fela Kuti,
Suicide,
The Index,
L. Decosne,
James White and The Blacks,
The Sonics,
Saccharine Trust,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Audionom,
Bill Wells,
The Divine Comedy,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Unrelated Segments,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Popol Vuh,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Terrestrial Tones,
Gastr Del Sol,
Q and Not U,
The Happenings,
Letta Mbulu,
B.T. Express,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Camouflage,
Gregory Isaacs,
Laurel Aitken,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Echospace,
The Wake,
Scratch Acid,
The Fortunes,
Barbara Tucker,
Tim Buckley,
John Lydon,
Joyce Sims,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Rhythm & Sound,
This Heat,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Techniques, The Techniques, The Techniques, The Techniques.
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.