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 Liberia and from Manchester.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba 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 Byron Stingily to the disco kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Average White Band. All the underground hits.
All The Walker Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Sound record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Monks 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?
Visage,
Roy Ayers,
A Flock of Seagulls,
This Heat,
The Skatalites,
The Neon Judgement,
PIL,
The Slackers,
Livin' Joy,
Bobby Sherman,
Supertramp,
Harry Pussy,
Depeche Mode,
Drive Like Jehu,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Scion,
Roxy Music,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Buckinghams,
Brass Construction,
Bush Tetras,
Delta 5,
Aloha Tigers,
Hot Snakes,
Q and Not U,
Howard Jones,
Pussy Galore,
Quadrant,
Hasil Adkins,
The Names,
Nick Fraelich,
Pylon,
Blancmange,
Fad Gadget,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Fugs,
Ultravox,
Erasure,
Avey Tare,
Danielle Patucci,
Arthur Verocai,
Big Daddy Kane,
Eric B and Rakim,
Au Pairs,
Susan Cadogan,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Gastr Del Sol,
Wings,
Kool Moe Dee,
Saccharine Trust,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Dark Day,
Soft Cell,
Harmonia,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Radiopuhelimet,
Johnny Osbourne,
Suburban Knight,
China Crisis,
The Searchers,
The Busters, The Busters, The Busters, The Busters.
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.