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 Lesotho and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 James White and The Blacks to the rock kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Saints. All the underground hits.
All Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Prince Buster record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Richard Hell and the Voidoids record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Searchers,
Gichy Dan,
Goldenarms,
Darondo,
The Gun Club,
Erasure,
Whodini,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
John Coltrane,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Interpol,
Sun City Girls,
Barbara Tucker,
Sällskapet,
Das Ding,
Skarface,
Mr. Review,
Gabor Szabo,
Animal Collective,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Reuben Wilson,
The Gladiators,
Essential Logic,
The Barracudas,
The Smiths,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Kinks,
Kerrie Biddell,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Gang of Four,
Ponytail,
Absolute Body Control,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Oneida,
Sugar Minott,
Joe Finger,
The Last Poets,
Grey Daturas,
Carl Craig,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Tremeloes,
The Associates,
Mark Hollis,
Rufus Thomas,
Sun Ra,
The American Breed,
Unwound,
The Electric Prunes,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
The Doobie Brothers,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Spandau Ballet,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Angels of Light,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Doors,
Urselle,
Monolake,
Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox.
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.