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 Germany and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1966 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the 808 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 Boogie Down Productions to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 The Birthday Party. All the underground hits.
All Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Malaria! record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pagans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Arcadia,
Moby Grape,
Eddi Front,
the Slits,
Frankie Knuckles,
David McCallum,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Slackers,
The Wake,
Aural Exciters,
Pantytec,
Dennis Brown,
Rakim,
Glambeats Corp.,
These Immortal Souls,
Eden Ahbez,
Faraquet,
Ponytail,
Crime,
The Cramps,
Funkadelic,
Black Sheep,
Cal Tjader,
Drexciya,
Gang Starr,
Average White Band,
H. Thieme,
The Dirtbombs,
Pylon,
Motorama,
Audionom,
Deepchord,
The Blues Magoos,
Smog,
Kaleidoscope,
The Modern Lovers,
The Selecter,
Fluxion,
Radio Birdman,
The Moleskins,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Litter,
Little Man,
Robert Wyatt,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Smiths,
The Red Krayola,
Wally Richardson,
Sound Behaviour,
Jandek,
The Move,
Qualms,
Neil Young,
Peter and Kerry,
Loose Ends,
Second Layer,
Talk Talk,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Associates,
Fugazi, Fugazi, Fugazi, Fugazi.
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.