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 Lithuania and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in London.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 linndrum 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 Nation of Ulysses to the crunk 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 Simply Red. All the underground hits.
All The Busters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The United States of America record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Max Romeo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T.S.O.L.,
Rufus Thomas,
The J.B.'s,
Mandrill,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Index,
Anthony Braxton,
Sugar Minott,
Severed Heads,
Stockholm Monsters,
Kayak,
Whodini,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
ABC,
Gregory Isaacs,
Nation of Ulysses,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The American Breed,
Soft Cell,
Franke,
The Cramps,
Ohio Players,
Negative Approach,
Terrestrial Tones,
Lakeside,
Marmalade,
L. Decosne,
Avey Tare,
Bronski Beat,
Magazine,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Scan 7,
Quantec,
The Red Krayola,
Boredoms,
Delta 5,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Seeds,
Chris Corsano,
Stetsasonic,
The Last Poets,
New York Dolls,
David Axelrod,
Mark Hollis,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
John Cale,
Yellowson,
Rhythm & Sound,
Bobby Byrd,
Dennis Brown,
The Tremeloes,
Ronan,
The Fortunes,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Vainqueur,
Big Daddy Kane,
Trumans Water,
Make Up,
The Cure,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Lower 48,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Durutti Column, The Durutti Column, The Durutti Column, The Durutti Column.
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.