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 Serbia and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 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 Flesh Eaters to the crunk 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 L. Decosne. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed & John Cale tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every China Crisis record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Index,
Cecil Taylor,
Frankie Knuckles,
Skriet,
Gang Gang Dance,
Connie Case,
Susan Cadogan,
Marc Almond,
Crispy Ambulance,
Arthur Verocai,
John Coltrane,
DNA,
Kevin Saunderson,
Rosa Yemen,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Jawbox,
Scratch Acid,
Lower 48,
The Knickerbockers,
Marine Girls,
John Cale,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The United States of America,
Magazine,
Lou Reed,
ABBA,
Country Teasers,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Dead Boys,
Lightning Bolt,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Gastr Del Sol,
Tom Boy,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Last Poets,
Lakeside,
The Blues Magoos,
The American Breed,
Slick Rick,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Absolute Body Control,
Essential Logic,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Kurtis Blow,
Pussy Galore,
Stereo Dub,
F. McDonald,
48th St. Collective,
The Five Americans,
The Electric Prunes,
Roger Hodgson,
Subhumans,
Schoolly D,
Icehouse,
Toni Rubio,
Warren Ellis,
Thee Headcoats,
Crispian St. Peters,
Moby Grape, Moby Grape, Moby Grape, Moby Grape.
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.