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 Uruguay and from Toronto.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Madrid.
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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Brass Construction to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Soul Sonic Force. All the underground hits.
All Angels of Light & Akron/Family tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Slick Rick record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 a snare and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Talk Talk record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crash Course in Science,
Bobby Byrd,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Drexciya,
Can,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Animal Collective,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Ralphi Rosario,
10cc,
Erasure,
Echospace,
DJ Style,
Tubeway Army,
Pussy Galore,
Brick,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Jawbox,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Barracudas,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
This Heat,
Matthew Bourne,
Suburban Knight,
Archie Shepp,
Mr. Review,
Oblivians,
JFA,
Isaac Hayes,
The Music Machine,
Ituana,
Blossom Toes,
These Immortal Souls,
Sun City Girls,
Livin' Joy,
Tears for Fears,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Howard Jones,
Grauzone,
Soul Sonic Force,
Man Eating Sloth,
Godley & Creme,
Idris Muhammad,
Pantaleimon,
Faraquet,
ABBA,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Mantronix,
Fear,
The Alarm Clocks,
Max Romeo,
The United States of America,
Vladislav Delay,
Tomorrow,
Saccharine Trust,
Amon Düül II,
Visage, Visage, Visage, Visage.
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.