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 Israel and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Madrid.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 L. Decosne to the rock 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 Funkadelic. All the underground hits.
All Sexual Harrassment tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Neil Young 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Siglo XX record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minutemen,
Public Enemy,
Shuggie Otis,
Severed Heads,
Gerry Rafferty,
Soft Machine,
Can,
Ralphi Rosario,
Maleditus Sound,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Sandy B,
A Flock of Seagulls,
B.T. Express,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Jacques Brel,
Quadrant,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
X-102,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
New Order,
Robert Hood,
The Angels of Light,
The Modern Lovers,
Byron Stingily,
Agent Orange,
Bill Near,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Mark Hollis,
Index,
Nick Fraelich,
Skaos,
Lindisfarne,
The Victims,
Ice-T,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
R.M.O.,
Outsiders,
Nico,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Main Source,
The Birthday Party,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Skriet,
The Velvet Underground,
New Age Steppers,
The Dave Clark Five,
Make Up,
The Mummies,
Crispy Ambulance,
Malaria!,
A Certain Ratio,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Remains,
Gang Gang Dance,
Schoolly D,
The Fortunes,
Bootsy Collins,
FM Einheit,
Brass Construction,
Fat Boys, Fat Boys, Fat Boys, Fat Boys.
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.