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 Somalia and from Copenhagen.
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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
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 The Blues Magoos to the rap 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 H. Thieme. All the underground hits.
All Monks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Sonics record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 an organ and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suburban Knight record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Busters,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Newcleus,
New Age Steppers,
The Gun Club,
The Move,
Television Personalities,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Intrusion,
Mr. Review,
Alton Ellis,
Funkadelic,
The Kinks,
New York Dolls,
Pole,
Warsaw,
Surgeon,
Boogie Down Productions,
Kas Product,
JFA,
Sexual Harrassment,
Sugar Minott,
Electric Prunes,
Gang of Four,
L. Decosne,
X-Ray Spex,
Roy Ayers,
Derrick May,
Suicide,
Archie Shepp,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Mojo Men,
The Seeds,
Minnie Riperton,
Boz Scaggs,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Radiopuhelimet,
Brand Nubian,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Shadows of Knight,
Ronnie Foster,
Cheater Slicks,
Lou Reed,
Little Man,
The Cramps,
Ronan,
Joy Division,
Babytalk,
Deadbeat,
Groovy Waters,
Gong,
Rakim,
Wolf Eyes,
Ice-T,
Glenn Branca,
The Velvet Underground,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Tres Demented,
Moss Icon,
New Order,
Amon Düül,
Judy Mowatt,
KRS-One,
a-ha, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha.
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.