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 Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Bologna.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Harpers Bizarre to the grime 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 The Real Kids. All the underground hits.
All Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every London Community Gospel Choir record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Unwound record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
48th St. Collective,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Lalo Schifrin,
Tommy Roe,
The Sonics,
the Human League,
The Alarm Clocks,
Minnie Riperton,
John Cale,
The Electric Prunes,
Soul II Soul,
Neu!,
Animal Collective,
Jerry's Kids,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Stockholm Monsters,
Ponytail,
Visage,
10cc,
Hardrive,
Delon & Dalcan,
Lindisfarne,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Bizarre Inc.,
Icehouse,
Erykah Badu,
Harry Pussy,
Slick Rick,
Faust,
Supertramp,
Index,
Sex Pistols,
The Young Rascals,
Reagan Youth,
OOIOO,
Carl Craig,
Buzzcocks,
Country Teasers,
The Mummies,
Eurythmics,
Electric Prunes,
Monks,
Tom Boy,
B.T. Express,
Franke,
Zapp,
Avey Tare,
The Seeds,
Pantytec,
Jeff Lynne,
the Normal,
Eli Mardock,
Robert Görl,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Divine Comedy,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Gichy Dan,
Flipper,
Mad Mike,
Reuben Wilson,
Amon Düül, Amon Düül, Amon Düül, Amon Düül.
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.