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 Thailand and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Quantec 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 Ornette Coleman. All the underground hits.
All Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every This Heat record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 an arpeggiator and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lungfish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Doors,
Davy DMX,
The Knickerbockers,
Faraquet,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Johnny Osbourne,
John Holt,
The Cramps,
In Retrospect,
Max Romeo,
Aswad,
The Last Poets,
Intrusion,
The Raincoats,
Chris Corsano,
Mark Hollis,
Jacques Brel,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Real Kids,
Susan Cadogan,
Throbbing Gristle,
Maleditus Sound,
June of 44,
Scott Walker,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Television Personalities,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
La Düsseldorf,
Index,
Dual Sessions,
Rufus Thomas,
Amon Düül,
The Offenders,
Hashim,
Lee Hazlewood,
Animal Collective,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Cameo,
Suicide,
Trumans Water,
Roxy Music,
The Monochrome Set,
Crime,
Piero Umiliani,
Dorothy Ashby,
Jimmy McGriff,
Pantaleimon,
Eli Mardock,
Altered Images,
Lindisfarne,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Glambeats Corp.,
Vainqueur,
Eric Copeland,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Golliwogs,
Chris & Cosey,
Lou Christie,
Grauzone,
Eric B and Rakim,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Bill Wells,
ABBA, ABBA, ABBA, ABBA.
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.