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 East Timor and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Angry Samoans to the electroclash 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 Black Pus. All the underground hits.
All New Age Steppers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Suicide 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Knickerbockers,
The Gladiators,
John Coltrane,
Audionom,
L. Decosne,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Hasil Adkins,
John Cale,
Ohio Players,
Nico,
the Soft Cell,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Sex Pistols,
The Shadows of Knight,
Cal Tjader,
Eden Ahbez,
Pierre Henry,
Bobby Sherman,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Bizarre Inc.,
Silicon Teens,
Royal Trux,
Johnny Clarke,
Jeff Mills,
Simply Red,
Howard Jones,
Los Fastidios,
Vladislav Delay,
The Fugs,
Ultra Naté,
Dorothy Ashby,
Shuggie Otis,
The Zeros,
Morten Harket,
Thee Headcoats,
Liliput,
Boredoms,
Fad Gadget,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Happenings,
Rufus Thomas,
Patti Smith,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Eli Mardock,
U.S. Maple,
Wally Richardson,
Dave Gahan,
Darondo,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
ABC,
Young Marble Giants,
Alison Limerick,
June Days,
Dennis Brown,
The Slits,
Reagan Youth,
Susan Cadogan,
Quantec,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog, Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog, Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog, Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog.
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.