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 Hungary and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the marimba 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 Minny Pops to the grunge 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 Fugazi. All the underground hits.
All The Walker Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sarah Menescal record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Knickerbockers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Khruangbin,
The Remains,
DJ Style,
Model 500,
Al Stewart,
PIL,
Kevin Saunderson,
Chrome,
10cc,
Soft Machine,
Q65,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Flesh Eaters,
Reuben Wilson,
Bobby Byrd,
the Association,
The Red Krayola,
Bush Tetras,
Vainqueur,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Toasters,
Rapeman,
Crispian St. Peters,
Susan Cadogan,
Boredoms,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Roxette,
Tim Buckley,
Motorama,
Fad Gadget,
Crispy Ambulance,
Kurtis Blow,
Wire,
Tom Boy,
Junior Murvin,
Sexual Harrassment,
a-ha,
Pantytec,
Lucky Dragons,
DJ Sneak,
Harry Pussy,
48th St. Collective,
Talk Talk,
T. Rex,
Kenny Larkin,
Suicide,
The Last Poets,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Siglo XX,
Skaos,
June of 44,
Black Bananas,
Ultravox,
Kerri Chandler,
Skarface,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Marvin Gaye,
Ronan,
Intrusion,
The Buckinghams,
The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood, The Misunderstood.
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.