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 Costa Rica and from Taipei.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 sitar 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 Nik Kershaw to the crunk 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 Black Dice. All the underground hits.
All Graham Central Station tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crooked Eye 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Curtis Mayfield record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terry Callier,
Pussy Galore,
Colin Newman,
Electric Prunes,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Buckinghams,
Joe Finger,
The Grass Roots,
Eve St. Jones,
The Neon Judgement,
The Gladiators,
Drive Like Jehu,
Brothers Johnson,
Isaac Hayes,
Tears for Fears,
Jawbox,
Unrelated Segments,
Rites of Spring,
Todd Rundgren,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Sandy B,
Marcia Griffiths,
Gichy Dan,
Dorothy Ashby,
Clear Light,
The Remains,
The Modern Lovers,
Animal Collective,
Basic Channel,
Bauhaus,
James Chance & The Contortions,
David Bowie,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Mandrill,
The Black Dice,
Agitation Free,
The Detroit Cobras,
Moby Grape,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Davy DMX,
Jandek,
The Cure,
Infiniti,
Arab on Radar,
X-102,
Donny Hathaway,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Bootsy Collins,
Excepter,
The Move,
Echospace,
Iggy Pop,
Mark Hollis,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Invisible,
Interpol,
the Association, the Association, the Association, the Association.
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.