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 Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 The Dirtbombs to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 R.M.O.. All the underground hits.
All Terror Squad Feat. Camron tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Frankie Knuckles 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Depeche Mode record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jerry Gold Smith,
Unrelated Segments,
Skriet,
Susan Cadogan,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Terrestrial Tones,
La Düsseldorf,
Adolescents,
The Happenings,
Surgeon,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Althea and Donna,
Black Pus,
Mr. Review,
Jawbox,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Golliwogs,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Slits,
Cymande,
Eli Mardock,
Infiniti,
Ronnie Foster,
Boredoms,
Barclay James Harvest,
Danielle Patucci,
Moss Icon,
Pet Shop Boys,
Scott Walker,
Cecil Taylor,
Maurizio,
Alice Coltrane,
Depeche Mode,
FM Einheit,
China Crisis,
Agent Orange,
Schoolly D,
John Lydon,
Gregory Isaacs,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Rhythm & Sound,
Talk Talk,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Fugs,
The Knickerbockers,
New York Dolls,
Lucky Dragons,
Derrick Morgan,
Tim Buckley,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Archie Shepp,
Nico,
Newcleus,
Erasure,
X-102,
Hoover,
Index,
Pole,
The Standells, The Standells, The Standells, The Standells.
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.