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 Trinidad & Tobago and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Kenny Larkin to the jazz kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 DNA. All the underground hits.
All June Days tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 guitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gong record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suburban Knight,
Tears for Fears,
Kurtis Blow,
Funky Four + One,
The Knickerbockers,
a-ha,
Kerri Chandler,
Babytalk,
The Sound,
Desert Stars,
Anakelly,
Lower 48,
Camberwell Now,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Aaron Thompson,
Japan,
Saccharine Trust,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Eden Ahbez,
Motorama,
The Trojans,
Brass Construction,
Jacob Miller,
The Cowsills,
Silicon Teens,
The Misunderstood,
Thee Headcoats,
Infiniti,
Albert Ayler,
The Monks,
Bad Manners,
Quadrant,
The Tremeloes,
DNA,
The Golliwogs,
Althea and Donna,
Bizarre Inc.,
Theoretical Girls,
Scan 7,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Alarm Clocks,
Anthony Braxton,
Warren Ellis,
Mo-Dettes,
the Sonics,
Robert Görl,
Banda Bassotti,
Interpol,
The Gladiators,
Black Pus,
Harry Pussy,
Frankie Knuckles,
Black Bananas,
The Cramps,
Clear Light,
the Bar-Kays,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Modern Lovers, The Modern Lovers, The Modern Lovers, The Modern Lovers.
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.