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 Namibia and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Salvador.
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 Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Moebius to the rap kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Erasure. All the underground hits.
All Khruangbin tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The United States of America 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Beasts of Bourbon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Chris Corsano,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
New Age Steppers,
The Doors,
The Modern Lovers,
The Alarm Clocks,
James White and The Blacks,
The Electric Prunes,
Yazoo,
Saccharine Trust,
The Dead C,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Shadows of Knight,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Sandy B,
Nirvana,
Deakin,
The Divine Comedy,
Bob Dylan,
The Cramps,
Interpol,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Fugs,
Cecil Taylor,
Minutemen,
Jacques Brel,
Terrestrial Tones,
Grauzone,
Girls At Our Best!,
Radio Birdman,
Hoover,
The Gories,
Freddie Wadling,
Brass Construction,
Livin' Joy,
Gabor Szabo,
Ten City,
Minnie Riperton,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Fort Wilson Riot,
John Coltrane,
Hashim,
Hasil Adkins,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Count Five,
Aloha Tigers,
Reuben Wilson,
the Germs,
The Gun Club,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Angels of Light,
Delon & Dalcan,
Fela Kuti,
Suicide,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Sexual Harrassment,
Anakelly,
Eden Ahbez,
David Bowie,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
X-101,
Nation of Ulysses,
Intrusion, Intrusion, Intrusion, Intrusion.
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.