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 Romania and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Manchester.
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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Faraquet. All the underground hits.
All The Five Americans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Red Lorry Yellow Lorry 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Smog record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Livin' Joy,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Skatalites,
Davy DMX,
Quantec,
Lou Christie,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Siglo XX,
Tim Buckley,
Mr. Review,
The Pop Group,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Joe Smooth,
The Offenders,
Steve Hackett,
Gichy Dan,
The Star Department,
Trumans Water,
Rhythm & Sound,
a-ha,
Slave,
Sandy B,
The Fall,
The Detroit Cobras,
Deakin,
Black Moon,
LL Cool J,
T.S.O.L.,
Tropical Tobacco,
Bill Wells,
Reuben Wilson,
The Names,
Pet Shop Boys,
Roger Hodgson,
Slick Rick,
Reagan Youth,
Moby Grape,
Babytalk,
Make Up,
Arthur Verocai,
Delon & Dalcan,
Aural Exciters,
Soul Sonic Force,
Charles Mingus,
Radiohead,
Television,
Excepter,
Fela Kuti,
Sarah Menescal,
Barbara Tucker,
Country Teasers,
Wings,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Bad Manners,
Kurtis Blow,
Royal Trux,
Suicide,
Silicon Teens,
Rod Modell,
Boredoms,
Duran Duran,
Porter Ricks,
Groovy Waters,
Prince Buster,
Soul II Soul, Soul II Soul, Soul II Soul, Soul II Soul.
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.