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 Antigua and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Underground Resistance to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Harpers Bizarre. All the underground hits.
All Hardrive tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Blues Magoos record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Roxy Music record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fela Kuti,
Cecil Taylor,
Grauzone,
Ronan,
Wolf Eyes,
Spoonie Gee,
Lucky Dragons,
OOIOO,
Soul Sonic Force,
Minor Threat,
Al Stewart,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Moody Blues,
Pantaleimon,
Rod Modell,
Boz Scaggs,
David Bowie,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The United States of America,
Q and Not U,
the Swans,
Laurel Aitken,
U.S. Maple,
Trumans Water,
Moebius,
Harry Pussy,
Brand Nubian,
Cal Tjader,
Joe Finger,
Andrew Hill,
Amazonics,
Pulsallama,
Make Up,
The Fire Engines,
the Soft Cell,
In Retrospect,
The Busters,
Marc Almond,
Intrusion,
Saccharine Trust,
Scan 7,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
June Days,
48th St. Collective,
Warsaw,
The Happenings,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Stockholm Monsters,
Tommy Roe,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Aswad,
Bob Dylan,
Second Layer,
Crash Course in Science,
New Order,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Mr. Review,
The Cramps,
The Dead C,
The Flesh Eaters,
Shuggie Otis,
B.T. Express,
Bobbi Humphrey, Bobbi Humphrey, Bobbi Humphrey, Bobbi Humphrey.
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.