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 Norway and from Columbus.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Invisible to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Barrington Levy. All the underground hits.
All Spoonie Gee tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Matthew Bourne 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Underground Resistance record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Moon,
Reuben Wilson,
The Slackers,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Livin' Joy,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Warren Ellis,
The Neon Judgement,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Dawn Penn,
the Normal,
Patti Smith,
The Monochrome Set,
Soft Machine,
Lyres,
Robert Hood,
Massinfluence,
Tears for Fears,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Detroit Cobras,
Easy Going,
Mantronix,
Mandrill,
June of 44,
La Düsseldorf,
Surgeon,
Nation of Ulysses,
Aural Exciters,
Lungfish,
kango's stein massive,
The Doors,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Dirtbombs,
The Cowsills,
Scott Walker,
Colin Newman,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Cecil Taylor,
The Leaves,
The Gladiators,
Godley & Creme,
U.S. Maple,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Los Fastidios,
Rotary Connection,
Loose Ends,
Judy Mowatt,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Max Romeo,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Robert Wyatt,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Lightning Bolt,
Morten Harket,
the Swans,
Rosa Yemen,
Cal Tjader,
Public Image Ltd.,
Kool Moe Dee,
Eddi Front,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Masters at Work,
Lou Christie, Lou Christie, Lou Christie, Lou Christie.
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.