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 Togo and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Angry Samoans to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Brick. All the underground hits.
All Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Peter and Kerry record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bad Manners,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Toasters,
Steve Hackett,
Dawn Penn,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Beau Brummels,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Spoonie Gee,
Ossler,
Frankie Knuckles,
Yazoo,
Funky Four + One,
JFA,
Harpers Bizarre,
Lou Christie,
Liliput,
the Sonics,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Joey Negro,
Duran Duran,
The Slits,
The Blues Magoos,
Saccharine Trust,
Urselle,
48th St. Collective,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
The Names,
Cheater Slicks,
John Coltrane,
Bootsy Collins,
MC5,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Masters at Work,
Unwound,
In Retrospect,
Soul Sonic Force,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Doobie Brothers,
Mark Hollis,
Peter and Kerry,
Sixth Finger,
Rapeman,
Unrelated Segments,
LL Cool J,
Simply Red,
The Star Department,
Gregory Isaacs,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
the Fania All-Stars,
Marshall Jefferson,
Davy DMX,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Barracudas,
David McCallum,
Junior Murvin,
Rites of Spring,
Metal Thangz,
Aural Exciters,
Oblivians,
Bootsy's Rubber Band, Bootsy's Rubber Band, Bootsy's Rubber Band, Bootsy's Rubber Band.
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.