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 Greece and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Milan.
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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Sly & The Family Stone to the grime 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 Eric B and Rakim. All the underground hits.
All Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Misunderstood record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Accadde A record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Chris & Cosey,
Barry Ungar,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Flash Fearless,
FM Einheit,
X-101,
John Foxx,
10cc,
The Monochrome Set,
Q and Not U,
Trumans Water,
Carl Craig,
Peter and Kerry,
Robert Wyatt,
Pussy Galore,
This Heat,
Girls At Our Best!,
Stereo Dub,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Mojo Men,
Man Parrish,
Skarface,
Subhumans,
Robert Hood,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Nick Fraelich,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Make Up,
The Index,
Nas,
The Names,
Dead Boys,
Yazoo,
F. McDonald,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Cecil Taylor,
Absolute Body Control,
Mo-Dettes,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Charles Mingus,
Von Mondo,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Pole,
Stockholm Monsters,
Visage,
The Birthday Party,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Robert Görl,
The American Breed,
Livin' Joy,
Alice Coltrane,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Cowsills,
The Golliwogs,
the Soft Cell,
CMW,
Vladislav Delay,
Jandek,
The Monks, The Monks, The Monks, The Monks.
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.