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 Mozambique and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
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 Star Department to the grime kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Arab on Radar. All the underground hits.
All Laurel Aitken tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Chris & Cosey 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Ralphi Rosario,
Index,
Fat Boys,
Ice-T,
James White and The Blacks,
Youth Brigade,
Big Daddy Kane,
Nation of Ulysses,
Excepter,
John Holt,
Carl Craig,
Tim Buckley,
Rekid,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Warsaw,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Aaron Thompson,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Khruangbin,
Mandrill,
Matthew Bourne,
Black Flag,
Little Man,
Scott Walker,
Fugazi,
Nick Fraelich,
Wolf Eyes,
Magma,
Malaria!,
Sun Ra,
the Fania All-Stars,
Michelle Simonal,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
New York Dolls,
Harry Pussy,
The Vogues,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Dual Sessions,
Young Marble Giants,
Parry Music,
The Smoke,
Patti Smith,
The Smiths,
Japan,
Beasts of Bourbon,
T.S.O.L.,
Skarface,
The Seeds,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Heaven 17,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Barracudas,
Sällskapet,
Yusef Lateef,
Public Image Ltd.,
Scientists,
The Searchers,
Banda Bassotti,
Pantaleimon,
June of 44, June of 44, June of 44, June of 44.
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.