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 Czech Republic and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1965 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Man Eating Sloth to the funk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. All the underground hits.
All Jeff Mills tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Excepter 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Soft Machine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deakin,
Arcadia,
The Victims,
Vladislav Delay,
Silicon Teens,
Fear,
Alphaville,
Procol Harum,
Porter Ricks,
Sex Pistols,
Rapeman,
Model 500,
Trumans Water,
Morten Harket,
Grey Daturas,
Gabor Szabo,
Franke,
Blossom Toes,
The Standells,
the Normal,
Al Stewart,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Arthur Verocai,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Crime,
The Residents,
Desert Stars,
Kerri Chandler,
Boz Scaggs,
Black Bananas,
Royal Trux,
The New Christs,
Roger Hodgson,
Mary Jane Girls,
New York Dolls,
Stetsasonic,
Gang of Four,
The Offenders,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Fortunes,
Con Funk Shun,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Main Source,
Ralphi Rosario,
DNA,
Pole,
Los Fastidios,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Fugs,
Scrapy,
Sparks,
Ludus,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Lightning Bolt,
Ituana,
FM Einheit,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Peter and Kerry,
Youth Brigade,
Moss Icon,
Nico,
Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs.
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.