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 Bangladesh and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the theremin 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 Mars to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Lucky Dragons. All the underground hits.
All Connie Case tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Buckinghams record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 theremin and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Magazine record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Icehouse,
Andrew Hill,
Kenny Larkin,
The Fuzztones,
Sun City Girls,
Nirvana,
Jandek,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Misunderstood,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
The Smoke,
Radiohead,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Model 500,
8 Eyed Spy,
Althea and Donna,
Scott Walker,
Porter Ricks,
Make Up,
The Dirtbombs,
Iggy Pop,
Johnny Osbourne,
ABC,
Black Moon,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Derrick Morgan,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Dave Clark Five,
Sixth Finger,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Vladislav Delay,
The Beau Brummels,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
World's Most,
Main Source,
Kurtis Blow,
Fear,
The J.B.'s,
Ohio Players,
The Leaves,
Theoretical Girls,
Audionom,
Babytalk,
Reuben Wilson,
the Fania All-Stars,
Sound Behaviour,
Wally Richardson,
Gang Gang Dance,
Jawbox,
Pussy Galore,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Skriet,
The Birthday Party,
Big Daddy Kane,
Radio Birdman,
Lee Hazlewood,
Cymande,
Can,
Y Pants,
Lower 48,
Agent Orange,
The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light.
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.