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 Mongolia and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Roy Ayers to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Blancmange. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Leonard Cohen record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 chamberlin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Saints record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lower 48,
Lou Reed,
Bobby Sherman,
the Sonics,
Roxy Music,
Icehouse,
Matthew Halsall,
Anakelly,
Rapeman,
Stetsasonic,
Ituana,
Bush Tetras,
Cheater Slicks,
The Happenings,
Heaven 17,
Letta Mbulu,
Althea and Donna,
The Smiths,
MC5,
Lyres,
The Slits,
The Gun Club,
Circle Jerks,
The Smoke,
The Moleskins,
Country Teasers,
OOIOO,
Mad Mike,
Angry Samoans,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Franke,
Stockholm Monsters,
The American Breed,
Donny Hathaway,
Half Japanese,
Davy DMX,
Altered Images,
Ronnie Foster,
Girls At Our Best!,
John Lydon,
Connie Case,
Bluetip,
Crispy Ambulance,
LL Cool J,
Minny Pops,
Gang Green,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
the Human League,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Pussy Galore,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Kool Moe Dee,
Archie Shepp,
The Fire Engines,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Pop Group,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Mojo Men,
The Residents,
Ossler,
Morten Harket,
Tres Demented,
Whodini, Whodini, Whodini, Whodini.
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.