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 Burundi and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro 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 the Normal to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Judy Mowatt. All the underground hits.
All B.T. Express tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kurtis Blow 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Symarip record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ 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 Five Americans,
Gang Green,
Nirvana,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Goldenarms,
The Sisters of Mercy,
OOIOO,
Minny Pops,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Bauhaus,
Siglo XX,
Blake Baxter,
Heaven 17,
the Slits,
Thee Headcoats,
Angry Samoans,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Procol Harum,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Tommy Roe,
Rod Modell,
Barclay James Harvest,
Roxette,
The Mighty Diamonds,
DJ Sneak,
Underground Resistance,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Surgeon,
The Trojans,
Tears for Fears,
Marshall Jefferson,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Red Krayola,
The Beau Brummels,
The Fall,
Swell Maps,
The American Breed,
R.M.O.,
One Last Wish,
Niagra,
Patti Smith,
Sonic Youth,
Stiv Bators,
The Neon Judgement,
Ultimate Spinach,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Jeru the Damaja,
Bootsy Collins,
Cheater Slicks,
Aswad,
Maurizio,
The J.B.'s,
Massinfluence,
Vladislav Delay,
The Monochrome Set,
Derrick Morgan,
The Buckinghams,
Make Up,
Hasil Adkins,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Alison Limerick,
Godley & Creme,
Davy DMX, Davy DMX, Davy DMX, Davy DMX.
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.