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 Romania and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
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 The Beau Brummels to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Wasted Youth. All the underground hits.
All E-Dancer tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Royal Trux record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 marimba and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Blues Magoos record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Colin Newman,
Amazonics,
Vainqueur,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Robert Wyatt,
Lindisfarne,
Dennis Brown,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Suicide,
Throbbing Gristle,
Brothers Johnson,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Stiv Bators,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
the Swans,
Basic Channel,
DNA,
The Five Americans,
Soulsonic Force,
The Saints,
The Tremeloes,
Yaz,
Cameo,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Siglo XX,
Sun City Girls,
Shuggie Otis,
Harry Pussy,
Rotary Connection,
Index,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Toni Rubio,
Charles Mingus,
Juan Atkins,
Marc Almond,
Ken Boothe,
The Knickerbockers,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Barracudas,
The Move,
The Durutti Column,
The Birthday Party,
Faust,
John Coltrane,
The Doors,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Qualms,
The Trojans,
Smog,
Gang of Four,
Fear,
Swell Maps,
The Walker Brothers,
Main Source,
The Wake,
ABBA,
Amon Düül II,
T.S.O.L.,
Wally Richardson,
A Certain Ratio,
Robert Görl,
Dark Day, Dark Day, Dark Day, Dark Day.
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.