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 Sierra Leone and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Johannesburg.
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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Red Lorry Yellow Lorry to the dance kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Frankie Knuckles. All the underground hits.
All Severed Heads tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Byron Stingily record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Chrome,
Harry Pussy,
Animal Collective,
The Wake,
Thee Headcoats,
MDC,
Quadrant,
Barry Ungar,
U.S. Maple,
Severed Heads,
Donald Byrd,
Fela Kuti,
Visage,
Underground Resistance,
the Swans,
Rekid,
Sex Pistols,
Cybotron,
Ralphi Rosario,
T.S.O.L.,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Grandmaster Flash,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Terry Callier,
Country Teasers,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Blues Magoos,
The Evens,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Ultra Naté,
Rakim,
Grauzone,
Robert Görl,
The Neon Judgement,
The Young Rascals,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Dave Gahan,
New Age Steppers,
Monks,
Pantytec,
Metal Thangz,
Flash Fearless,
Andrew Hill,
Skaos,
Fear,
Arthur Verocai,
Altered Images,
Siglo XX,
John Lydon,
The Flesh Eaters,
Little Man,
Nas,
Todd Terry,
Charles Mingus,
Soft Cell,
Ice-T,
Minny Pops,
Steve Hackett,
Morten Harket,
Cameo,
Roxette,
Rod Modell, Rod Modell, Rod Modell, Rod Modell.
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.