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 Ecuador and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 rhodes 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 Dead C to the rap 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 Marc Almond. All the underground hits.
All F. McDonald tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Public Enemy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Detroit Cobras record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Angels of Light,
Sandy B,
Royal Trux,
Soul Sonic Force,
The United States of America,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Sarah Menescal,
Flipper,
Davy DMX,
Lindisfarne,
Drive Like Jehu,
Susan Cadogan,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Zero Boys,
Arab on Radar,
Kenny Larkin,
Graham Central Station,
Kerri Chandler,
Howard Jones,
Donny Hathaway,
The New Christs,
Juan Atkins,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Birthday Party,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Gregory Isaacs,
Motorama,
Sugar Minott,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Jeff Mills,
The Fortunes,
Eric Dolphy,
Siglo XX,
Robert Görl,
Monolake,
Average White Band,
The Standells,
Alton Ellis,
Prince Buster,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Bang On A Can,
Traffic Nightmare,
Public Enemy,
Deadbeat,
Eddi Front,
Altered Images,
Crispian St. Peters,
Black Flag,
The Sound,
The Count Five,
Mad Mike,
Sun Ra,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Moody Blues,
Black Moon,
the Soft Cell,
Simply Red,
Robert Hood,
Wally Richardson,
X-102,
Urselle,
Banda Bassotti,
CMW, CMW, CMW, CMW.
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.