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 Botswana and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1961 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 linndrum 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 Piero Umiliani to the punk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Maleditus Sound tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cabaret Voltaire record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a DNA record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Bananas,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Skarface,
Electric Prunes,
Nik Kershaw,
Clear Light,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Mojo Men,
June of 44,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Quadrant,
The Five Americans,
The Invisible,
Tres Demented,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Deakin,
R.M.O.,
Kenny Larkin,
Faraquet,
Grandmaster Flash,
Cameo,
Dorothy Ashby,
John Lydon,
Scan 7,
The Slits,
Fugazi,
Minny Pops,
Rapeman,
Flipper,
The Mummies,
The Victims,
Y Pants,
Soul Sonic Force,
Jacques Brel,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Moody Blues,
Reagan Youth,
Moss Icon,
Minor Threat,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Bill Wells,
The Star Department,
Rotary Connection,
Derrick Morgan,
Flamin' Groovies,
Danielle Patucci,
Franke,
Hoover,
The Busters,
Arcadia,
Au Pairs,
Jeru the Damaja,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Bootsy Collins,
The Fugs,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Sound,
Cheater Slicks,
Jandek,
Gerry Rafferty,
Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon.
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.