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 Montenegro and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the sitar 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 Black Sheep to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Colin Newman. All the underground hits.
All Crime tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Chris Corsano record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Pus,
Electric Prunes,
Henry Cow,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Lou Reed,
Agitation Free,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
the Swans,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
X-102,
Spoonie Gee,
The Walker Brothers,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Monochrome Set,
Michelle Simonal,
Pierre Henry,
Inner City,
Hasil Adkins,
Graham Central Station,
Joe Finger,
Isaac Hayes,
Moss Icon,
The Evens,
UT,
Avey Tare,
Kerri Chandler,
Barry Ungar,
Pagans,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Country Teasers,
Bobby Sherman,
Radio Birdman,
JFA,
Tomorrow,
Faust,
Rakim,
Roxy Music,
The Move,
Bluetip,
Stiv Bators,
Robert Hood,
the Normal,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Hoover,
Amon Düül II,
Heaven 17,
Bronski Beat,
Al Stewart,
Gang Gang Dance,
Minny Pops,
Alton Ellis,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Todd Terry,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Khruangbin,
Barrington Levy,
Skaos,
Jacques Brel,
the Association, the Association, the Association, the Association.
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.