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 Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Stiv Bators to the jazz 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 Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth. All the underground hits.
All The Alarm Clocks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every De La Soul & Jungle Brothers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 a clarinet and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eurythmics record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nirvana,
Morten Harket,
Godley & Creme,
Gang of Four,
Skarface,
Q and Not U,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Goldenarms,
Funky Four + One,
Archie Shepp,
AZ,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Deadbeat,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
La Düsseldorf,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Tropical Tobacco,
Intrusion,
Shuggie Otis,
Second Layer,
Warren Ellis,
The Gladiators,
Urselle,
Crash Course in Science,
The Victims,
The Offenders,
The Cowsills,
Black Bananas,
Babytalk,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
The Monochrome Set,
New York Dolls,
Cheater Slicks,
Cybotron,
Cal Tjader,
Kaleidoscope,
Delon & Dalcan,
Public Enemy,
The Vogues,
Arthur Verocai,
Smog,
Stetsasonic,
Freddie Wadling,
Grauzone,
Make Up,
Brass Construction,
Swans,
Johnny Clarke,
Patti Smith,
Yusef Lateef,
Janne Schatter,
Pole,
Barry Ungar,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Wake,
Kool Moe Dee,
Robert Hood,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Happenings,
Masters at Work, Masters at Work, Masters at Work, Masters at Work.
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.