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 South Africa and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Terrestrial Tones to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Idris Muhammad. All the underground hits.
All R.M.O. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Radio Birdman 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oneida record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Fat Boys,
Gabor Szabo,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Cowsills,
Eden Ahbez,
Minor Threat,
Juan Atkins,
Johnny Clarke,
The Gun Club,
The Searchers,
Wasted Youth,
Johnny Osbourne,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Livin' Joy,
Terry Callier,
The Star Department,
Circle Jerks,
Howard Jones,
Roger Hodgson,
Infiniti,
The Buckinghams,
the Soft Cell,
Harry Pussy,
The Dirtbombs,
Sandy B,
The Happenings,
The Tremeloes,
The Index,
Laurel Aitken,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Stockholm Monsters,
Ronan,
Lou Christie,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Can,
Lower 48,
Scrapy,
Radio Birdman,
John Cale,
The Fall,
the Fania All-Stars,
New Age Steppers,
Big Daddy Kane,
Depeche Mode,
Patti Smith,
The Sound,
Scott Walker,
Massinfluence,
Jerry's Kids,
Byron Stingily,
Agent Orange,
the Slits,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Michelle Simonal,
Swans,
Wire,
ABC,
Henry Cow,
Lebanon Hanover,
Graham Central Station,
Supertramp,
The Count Five, The Count Five, The Count Five, The Count Five.
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.