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 Portugal and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 The American Breed to the techno kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 James White and The Blacks. All the underground hits.
All Radio Birdman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fort Wilson Riot 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The American Breed,
Pagans,
Aural Exciters,
Arab on Radar,
Swans,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Peter and Kerry,
Harry Pussy,
Mary Jane Girls,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Marshall Jefferson,
Agitation Free,
Yazoo,
The Invisible,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
The Slackers,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Dual Sessions,
Livin' Joy,
Charles Mingus,
Silicon Teens,
Lalo Schifrin,
Gang Green,
Banda Bassotti,
Quadrant,
Radiopuhelimet,
Jeff Mills,
Agent Orange,
CMW,
The Buckinghams,
Man Parrish,
The Residents,
Bobby Sherman,
The Dead C,
Unrelated Segments,
Panda Bear,
Cybotron,
Spandau Ballet,
Severed Heads,
Massinfluence,
the Germs,
DJ Style,
The Blues Magoos,
Minnie Riperton,
Black Sheep,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Barbara Tucker,
The Count Five,
The Moleskins,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Real Kids,
Royal Trux,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Doors,
Sugar Minott,
Eric Dolphy,
Stiv Bators,
Lindisfarne,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Thee Headcoats,
Moebius,
Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar.
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.