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 Ireland and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 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 The Flesh Eaters. All the underground hits.
All Lafayette Afro Rock Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Red Lorry Yellow Lorry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Selecter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Todd Rundgren,
Al Stewart,
AZ,
Bobby Sherman,
Kevin Saunderson,
Pagans,
Unrelated Segments,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Archie Shepp,
The Red Krayola,
Kerrie Biddell,
Television Personalities,
Deakin,
the Fania All-Stars,
Glenn Branca,
ABC,
Lalo Schifrin,
Joe Finger,
Quantec,
Marmalade,
Nas,
Grandmaster Flash,
Von Mondo,
David McCallum,
Nirvana,
The Fire Engines,
Sarah Menescal,
Marvin Gaye,
Harry Pussy,
Hoover,
Jandek,
John Cale,
The United States of America,
Icehouse,
Carl Craig,
Laurel Aitken,
Little Man,
Mr. Review,
Steve Hackett,
Mantronix,
Matthew Halsall,
Dark Day,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Hardrive,
The Birthday Party,
Josef K,
Howard Jones,
Boz Scaggs,
Peter and Kerry,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Average White Band,
The Alarm Clocks,
Tim Buckley,
Wire,
Minutemen,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Barracudas,
The Star Department,
Robert Hood,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Bang On A Can,
Magma,
Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon.
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.