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 Dominican Republic and from Delhi.
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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Dave Gahan to the punk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Zero Boys. All the underground hits.
All Robert Wyatt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Animal Collective 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T. Rex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Buckinghams,
Nas,
Rosa Yemen,
Matthew Halsall,
Charles Mingus,
Barbara Tucker,
Niagra,
The Dirtbombs,
The Fuzztones,
Slave,
Marc Almond,
Monolake,
The Residents,
Joy Division,
DJ Style,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Saccharine Trust,
The Techniques,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Gong,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
D'Angelo,
Sarah Menescal,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
David McCallum,
Aaron Thompson,
Arab on Radar,
Khruangbin,
B.T. Express,
The Mojo Men,
E-Dancer,
Camouflage,
Ponytail,
Grey Daturas,
Byron Stingily,
Model 500,
Eddi Front,
Dorothy Ashby,
Marmalade,
Cameo,
R.M.O.,
Throbbing Gristle,
Goldenarms,
Judy Mowatt,
Arthur Verocai,
The New Christs,
The Black Dice,
Jesper Dahlback,
Blossom Toes,
The Smoke,
Bauhaus,
The Tremeloes,
Ohio Players,
The Count Five,
the Soft Cell,
Gang Gang Dance,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
T. Rex,
Robert Wyatt,
Don Cherry,
Eden Ahbez,
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.
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.