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 Denmark and from Columbus.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Heavy D & The Boyz to the grunge kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 The Detroit Cobras. All the underground hits.
All Gabor Szabo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Buzzcocks 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Siglo XX record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jawbox,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
U.S. Maple,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Sparks,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Boredoms,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Searchers,
Wire,
Lyres,
Duran Duran,
The Misunderstood,
Cal Tjader,
Henry Cow,
Tim Buckley,
Traffic Nightmare,
Aaron Thompson,
Susan Cadogan,
Fluxion,
China Crisis,
Andrew Hill,
Eurythmics,
Gang Gang Dance,
Lakeside,
The United States of America,
Jeff Mills,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Erasure,
The Seeds,
Man Parrish,
48th St. Collective,
Spoonie Gee,
Curtis Mayfield,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Echospace,
Drexciya,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Los Fastidios,
Lightning Bolt,
Howard Jones,
Au Pairs,
Gang Starr,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Harry Pussy,
Pantaleimon,
Slick Rick,
Mission of Burma,
John Holt,
Khruangbin,
The Motions,
8 Eyed Spy,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
a-ha,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Soul Sonic Force,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Barry Ungar,
OOIOO,
Make Up, Make Up, Make Up, Make Up.
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.