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 Suriname and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 48th St. Collective to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Thee Headcoats. All the underground hits.
All Cluster tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Althea and Donna 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ajijia Myrayebe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes 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 Blues Magoos,
The Last Poets,
The Move,
The Red Krayola,
Yaz,
Motorama,
June of 44,
Max Romeo,
Minny Pops,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Porter Ricks,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Nik Kershaw,
Josef K,
Kayak,
Bauhaus,
Ralphi Rosario,
Mr. Review,
Junior Murvin,
Bobby Byrd,
Chris Corsano,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Sonics,
Black Sheep,
Smog,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Los Fastidios,
Robert Görl,
Soft Machine,
E-Dancer,
the Bar-Kays,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Ronnie Foster,
Yazoo,
Neu!,
The Five Americans,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Stooges,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Cramps,
The Gories,
Ultravox,
Siglo XX,
A Flock of Seagulls,
David Bowie,
L. Decosne,
Charles Mingus,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
La Düsseldorf,
Bush Tetras,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Wire,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Pere Ubu,
the Slits,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Al Stewart,
Sugar Minott,
Freddie Wadling,
Whodini,
cv313,
Radiopuhelimet,
Pole, Pole, Pole, Pole.
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.