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 Morocco and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Nik Kershaw to the techno 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 Kango’s Stein Massive. All the underground hits.
All Cheater Slicks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Zeros 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Seeds record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lalo Schifrin,
Piero Umiliani,
June Days,
Jeru the Damaja,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Newcleus,
Pantaleimon,
Ronnie Foster,
Camberwell Now,
The Raincoats,
Sex Pistols,
Tropical Tobacco,
Minnie Riperton,
Maleditus Sound,
Donny Hathaway,
Kaleidoscope,
Brand Nubian,
Hot Snakes,
Au Pairs,
Rapeman,
Dorothy Ashby,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
U.S. Maple,
Darondo,
Roger Hodgson,
B.T. Express,
June of 44,
Max Romeo,
China Crisis,
Masters at Work,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Warsaw,
The Monks,
Lou Christie,
Section 25,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Gong,
Pere Ubu,
Jesper Dahlback,
Gang Green,
Surgeon,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Cure,
Stiv Bators,
Model 500,
Agitation Free,
Graham Central Station,
Stereo Dub,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Sound,
Nik Kershaw,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Byron Stingily,
Brass Construction,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Susan Cadogan,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Excepter,
The Happenings,
The Angels of Light,
Rod Modell, Rod Modell, Rod Modell, Rod Modell.
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.