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 Mozambique and from Columbus.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the clarinet 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 The Monks to the electroclash kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Red Krayola. All the underground hits.
All Eden Ahbez tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Talk Talk record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 sitar and a guitar 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 snare and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Flipper,
Nation of Ulysses,
Sparks,
Big Daddy Kane,
June of 44,
Barrington Levy,
James White and The Blacks,
Eli Mardock,
Roger Hodgson,
Rites of Spring,
Hoover,
Flash Fearless,
Boz Scaggs,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Slackers,
The Last Poets,
Ronnie Foster,
Whodini,
Sugar Minott,
Rhythm & Sound,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Joe Smooth,
Pussy Galore,
Wally Richardson,
Soulsonic Force,
Jerry's Kids,
Amazonics,
Scientists,
Slave,
Franke,
Index,
Public Image Ltd.,
Rufus Thomas,
Al Stewart,
Howard Jones,
The Move,
The Golliwogs,
Hasil Adkins,
Moss Icon,
CMW,
Frankie Knuckles,
Derrick Morgan,
KRS-One,
Danielle Patucci,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Spandau Ballet,
Talk Talk,
Glenn Branca,
Crispy Ambulance,
Soft Cell,
Scratch Acid,
Das Ding,
Brand Nubian,
Funkadelic,
Wasted Youth,
Country Teasers,
Bang On A Can,
The Electric Prunes,
Boogie Down Productions,
Kool Moe Dee,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Chris Corsano,
Mission of Burma,
The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs.
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.