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 Algeria and from Winnipeg.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Carl Craig to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Skriet. All the underground hits.
All The Seeds tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Unwound 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Skriet,
B.T. Express,
Sandy B,
The Smoke,
Fugazi,
The Saints,
Scott Walker,
The Blues Magoos,
Amon Düül,
Warren Ellis,
John Cale,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Durutti Column,
Al Stewart,
The American Breed,
Quantec,
Cal Tjader,
Nation of Ulysses,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Drexciya,
Q and Not U,
Tropical Tobacco,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Monks,
Kaleidoscope,
DNA,
China Crisis,
The Sonics,
Susan Cadogan,
X-Ray Spex,
Bobby Byrd,
Thee Headcoats,
Thompson Twins,
Von Mondo,
Danielle Patucci,
The Happenings,
The Gun Club,
The Searchers,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Leonard Cohen,
Sixth Finger,
Kool Moe Dee,
Freddie Wadling,
The Victims,
Man Parrish,
Chris Corsano,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Fuzztones,
Robert Wyatt,
Lou Christie,
Harpers Bizarre,
Outsiders,
Stiv Bators,
Lou Reed,
D'Angelo,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
PIL,
The Flesh Eaters,
Mr. Review,
Suicide,
Jacques Brel, Jacques Brel, Jacques Brel, Jacques Brel.
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.