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 Colombia and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ 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 Crispy Ambulance to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 John Coltrane. All the underground hits.
All Procol Harum tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Trojans record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Star Department record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sonics,
Khruangbin,
Electric Prunes,
Mission of Burma,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Fuzztones,
Tres Demented,
The Last Poets,
the Human League,
the Germs,
The Mummies,
Don Cherry,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Soft Machine,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Human League,
The Modern Lovers,
The Motions,
Soft Cell,
The Beau Brummels,
Fear,
The Grass Roots,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Icehouse,
Public Enemy,
Faraquet,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Johnny Clarke,
Bootsy Collins,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Spandau Ballet,
One Last Wish,
Curtis Mayfield,
Tears for Fears,
Mark Hollis,
John Lydon,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Kenny Larkin,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Harry Pussy,
Toni Rubio,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Toasters,
DJ Style,
Tom Boy,
Moby Grape,
the Fania All-Stars,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Pierre Henry,
Jerry Gold Smith,
L. Decosne,
Hot Snakes,
Ten City,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Angels of Light,
Thompson Twins,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
David Axelrod,
Ponytail,
The Martian,
Pere Ubu,
Dawn Penn,
Minutemen,
Joy Division,
Donald Byrd, Donald Byrd, Donald Byrd, Donald Byrd.
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.