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 Liechtenstein and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Cluster to the rap kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 John Holt. All the underground hits.
All Gerry Rafferty tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arab on Radar 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eric B and Rakim record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Easy Going,
Warsaw,
F. McDonald,
8 Eyed Spy,
Slick Rick,
Andrew Hill,
Soft Machine,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Q65,
Arthur Verocai,
The Count Five,
The Litter,
kango's stein massive,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Rufus Thomas,
Hot Snakes,
Brick,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
One Last Wish,
Minutemen,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Bob Dylan,
Pere Ubu,
Nick Fraelich,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Gladiators,
Amon Düül,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
the Sonics,
Faust,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Mojo Men,
Maurizio,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Porter Ricks,
Spoonie Gee,
The Stooges,
The Sound,
The Grass Roots,
Smog,
The Sonics,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Donny Hathaway,
Jeru the Damaja,
Rosa Yemen,
Roger Hodgson,
David McCallum,
Yusef Lateef,
Harmonia,
the Fania All-Stars,
China Crisis,
Tears for Fears,
Blancmange,
The Dirtbombs,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Agitation Free,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Motions,
Sex Pistols,
Crispy Ambulance,
June of 44,
Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama.
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.