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 Portugal and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 arpeggiator 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 U.S. Maple to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Interpol. All the underground hits.
All The Count Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Walker Brothers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 an organ and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Index,
Eve St. Jones,
The Monks,
Arcadia,
Juan Atkins,
Dorothy Ashby,
Black Moon,
Moebius,
Dark Day,
Marcia Griffiths,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
D'Angelo,
Leonard Cohen,
Main Source,
Scott Walker,
Ohio Players,
The Beau Brummels,
The Offenders,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Oblivians,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
The Human League,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Golliwogs,
The Mummies,
Terrestrial Tones,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Cramps,
Blancmange,
Curtis Mayfield,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
One Last Wish,
The Barracudas,
Alison Limerick,
Essential Logic,
Bill Near,
Ultimate Spinach,
Chris Corsano,
The Flesh Eaters,
Underground Resistance,
Connie Case,
the Normal,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Wire,
Jesper Dahlback,
Magazine,
Sällskapet,
Deepchord,
Spoonie Gee,
Joensuu 1685,
Glambeats Corp.,
Von Mondo,
Joy Division,
Brick,
Eurythmics,
The Divine Comedy,
Joey Negro,
Archie Shepp,
Simply Red,
Bobby Sherman,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
David McCallum, David McCallum, David McCallum, David McCallum.
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.