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 Georgia and from Bologna.
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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Delhi.
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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the theremin 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 Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft to the rap kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Jerry Gold Smith. All the underground hits.
All Red Lorry Yellow Lorry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Delta 5 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Smoke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Country Joe & The Fish,
Hardrive,
The Fall,
Rites of Spring,
Man Parrish,
Depeche Mode,
The New Christs,
Pet Shop Boys,
Spandau Ballet,
June Days,
cv313,
Talk Talk,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Slave,
The Black Dice,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Reagan Youth,
Nation of Ulysses,
Andrew Hill,
Cal Tjader,
Delon & Dalcan,
Average White Band,
Yellowson,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Motions,
Pere Ubu,
Be Bop Deluxe,
48th St. Collective,
Excepter,
The Count Five,
Lebanon Hanover,
the Swans,
Easy Going,
Essential Logic,
The Slackers,
Joey Negro,
Gerry Rafferty,
Cheater Slicks,
Mary Jane Girls,
Fela Kuti,
Joy Division,
China Crisis,
Davy DMX,
Los Fastidios,
Man Eating Sloth,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Glambeats Corp.,
Donald Byrd,
The Remains,
Girls At Our Best!,
Kas Product,
Terrestrial Tones,
John Lydon,
Lou Christie,
CMW,
Sugar Minott,
Soul II Soul,
Magma,
Warren Ellis,
Circle Jerks,
Audionom,
Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox.
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.