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 Maldives 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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Icehouse to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Slick Rick tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ronan record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Howard Jones,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Index,
James White and The Blacks,
Bronski Beat,
The Fugs,
The Victims,
John Lydon,
Graham Central Station,
Brothers Johnson,
Lebanon Hanover,
the Bar-Kays,
Malaria!,
Rotary Connection,
Harmonia,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Moody Blues,
The Remains,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Popol Vuh,
Supertramp,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Cure,
Gang of Four,
Rhythm & Sound,
Hot Snakes,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Infiniti,
Tomorrow,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Big Daddy Kane,
Black Flag,
Jeff Mills,
Soulsonic Force,
48th St. Collective,
Lindisfarne,
Bootsy Collins,
Pharoah Sanders,
Man Parrish,
The Fall,
Groovy Waters,
Steve Hackett,
Goldenarms,
The Last Poets,
Hoover,
Nation of Ulysses,
Rites of Spring,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Scott Walker,
Eden Ahbez,
Bizarre Inc.,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Gap Band,
Fluxion,
Henry Cow,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
AZ,
E-Dancer,
The Cowsills,
Mo-Dettes,
Underground Resistance,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Offenders,
Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson.
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.