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 Ecuador and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 mellotron 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 Crash Course in Science to the dance 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 Jandek. All the underground hits.
All Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Can record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Soft Cell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sex Pistols,
Terry Callier,
John Cale,
Sonic Youth,
Pet Shop Boys,
Vladislav Delay,
Basic Channel,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Can,
Rakim,
Subhumans,
The Offenders,
Deakin,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Blancmange,
X-102,
Lightning Bolt,
The Saints,
Bobby Sherman,
Gabor Szabo,
T.S.O.L.,
The Smoke,
Maurizio,
Arab on Radar,
Al Stewart,
Harry Pussy,
Eli Mardock,
Dorothy Ashby,
Fluxion,
Aural Exciters,
Blossom Toes,
Inner City,
Sparks,
Joyce Sims,
Pylon,
Tropical Tobacco,
John Lydon,
Buzzcocks,
Das Ding,
The Fortunes,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Unwound,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
David Bowie,
Archie Shepp,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Erasure,
Aaron Thompson,
Brothers Johnson,
Man Parrish,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Young Marble Giants,
Motorama,
Con Funk Shun,
Von Mondo,
Simply Red,
Ludus,
Donald Byrd,
Lebanon Hanover,
DJ Style,
The J.B.'s,
Metal Thangz, Metal Thangz, Metal Thangz, Metal Thangz.
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.