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 Kosovo and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1969 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Edmonton and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Model 500 to the punk 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 Richard Hell and the Voidoids. All the underground hits.
All Livin' Joy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Depeche Mode record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Todd Terry record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bad Manners,
Masters at Work,
the Association,
Sparks,
Sandy B,
Ice-T,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Boogie Down Productions,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Kerrie Biddell,
Severed Heads,
Inner City,
Ituana,
Ronan,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Pulsallama,
Gil Scott Heron,
Johnny Clarke,
Agent Orange,
Todd Rundgren,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Pretty Things,
L. Decosne,
Jesper Dahlback,
Lalo Schifrin,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Radiopuhelimet,
Bill Wells,
Shuggie Otis,
Bizarre Inc.,
Girls At Our Best!,
Negative Approach,
Nation of Ulysses,
Roxy Music,
The Saints,
Intrusion,
Minor Threat,
Average White Band,
Quadrant,
Goldenarms,
One Last Wish,
Rotary Connection,
Eurythmics,
Pagans,
DJ Sneak,
Sixth Finger,
A Certain Ratio,
Rod Modell,
Eden Ahbez,
Mad Mike,
Ohio Players,
Gang Gang Dance,
Lou Reed,
Lyres,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Sexual Harrassment,
Skarface,
Babytalk,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Dirtbombs,
Blossom Toes,
Gabor Szabo, Gabor Szabo, Gabor Szabo, Gabor Szabo.
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.