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 Sweden and from Spokane.
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 1966 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Beijing.
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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the oboe 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Malaria!. All the underground hits.
All Crispy Ambulance tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every 48th St. Collective record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oppenheimer Analysis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Spoonie Gee,
Icehouse,
Crime,
Quadrant,
Marvin Gaye,
David Axelrod,
Eurythmics,
The Grass Roots,
The Mummies,
Soulsonic Force,
Loose Ends,
New Order,
Lou Reed,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Royal Trux,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Kenny Larkin,
the Fania All-Stars,
Bronski Beat,
Pantaleimon,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Ten City,
Gong,
Dawn Penn,
Sixth Finger,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Minnie Riperton,
The Blackbyrds,
Tears for Fears,
Goldenarms,
Amazonics,
the Bar-Kays,
Kayak,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
T.S.O.L.,
The Standells,
Frankie Knuckles,
Stetsasonic,
Massinfluence,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Busters,
Lebanon Hanover,
Albert Ayler,
The Black Dice,
Make Up,
The Leaves,
The Misunderstood,
The Cowsills,
Arcadia,
Soft Cell,
Arab on Radar,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Yusef Lateef,
The Vogues,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
E-Dancer,
T. Rex,
Barbara Tucker,
Monolake,
Parry Music,
Todd Terry,
Ultimate Spinach, Ultimate Spinach, Ultimate Spinach, Ultimate Spinach.
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.