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 Bulgaria and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Ultramagnetic MC's to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Patti Smith. All the underground hits.
All Dave Gahan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Selector Dub Narcotic record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 chamberlin and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wire,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Martian,
Black Moon,
Fela Kuti,
Pussy Galore,
Davy DMX,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Camouflage,
Peter & Gordon,
The Barracudas,
Black Pus,
the Association,
Angry Samoans,
Roy Ayers,
Kurtis Blow,
Tommy Roe,
Talk Talk,
The Detroit Cobras,
Marine Girls,
Average White Band,
KRS-One,
Joensuu 1685,
The Gladiators,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Gregory Isaacs,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Rosa Yemen,
Organ,
The Litter,
FM Einheit,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Magazine,
LL Cool J,
Sun City Girls,
Todd Terry,
The Golliwogs,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Dirtbombs,
Godley & Creme,
Hot Snakes,
UT,
Matthew Halsall,
Sunsets and Hearts,
The Skatalites,
Half Japanese,
The Dave Clark Five,
Gastr Del Sol,
Fat Boys,
The Kinks,
Mr. Review,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Ken Boothe,
AZ,
The Star Department,
Stereo Dub,
The Black Dice,
Agitation Free,
Robert Görl,
Sonic Youth,
Deepchord,
Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich.
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.