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 Singapore and from Mexico City.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 güiro 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 The Cowsills to the disco kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Rites of Spring. All the underground hits.
All the Human League tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ituana record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Radio Birdman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fire Engines,
Gang Green,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Kinks,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Dave Clark Five,
Jimmy McGriff,
Brand Nubian,
The Sound,
Colin Newman,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Little Man,
Audionom,
The Remains,
Donald Byrd,
Blake Baxter,
Young Marble Giants,
Chris Corsano,
Pulsallama,
Shuggie Otis,
the Association,
48th St. Collective,
The Slackers,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Glambeats Corp.,
Radio Birdman,
Index,
Camouflage,
X-Ray Spex,
Dual Sessions,
Unrelated Segments,
Brass Construction,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Human League,
Tropical Tobacco,
Moebius,
Eric Dolphy,
Underground Resistance,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Rekid,
La Düsseldorf,
Pharoah Sanders,
New York Dolls,
Fatback Band,
The Velvet Underground,
Matthew Bourne,
The Martian,
The Move,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Zapp,
Junior Murvin,
Ronan,
Swell Maps,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Mission of Burma,
DJ Sneak,
Scratch Acid,
Mo-Dettes,
Electric Prunes,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
a-ha, a-ha, a-ha, a-ha.
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.