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 Ukraine and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1963 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Letta Mbulu to the funk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 It's A Beautiful Day. All the underground hits.
All James White and The Blacks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cheater Slicks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Deepchord record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Smog,
MC5,
One Last Wish,
Khruangbin,
Outsiders,
Zero Boys,
The Fugs,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Index,
The Kinks,
Glenn Branca,
Ultravox,
Hot Snakes,
Deakin,
The Evens,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Gun Club,
Massinfluence,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Heaven 17,
Oneida,
Pere Ubu,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
The Zeros,
8 Eyed Spy,
Angry Samoans,
The Doors,
Theoretical Girls,
The Remains,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
the Swans,
Harry Pussy,
the Soft Cell,
Gang Green,
Kerri Chandler,
Bad Manners,
Public Enemy,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Slave,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Moby Grape,
Harmonia,
Guru Guru,
Unwound,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Graham Central Station,
Yusef Lateef,
Girls At Our Best!,
Mark Hollis,
Trumans Water,
X-Ray Spex,
Gregory Isaacs,
Sexual Harrassment,
Arthur Verocai,
Idris Muhammad,
The Residents,
Cluster,
Roxette,
Boz Scaggs,
Ten City,
Gang Starr,
Sonic Youth,
Hasil Adkins,
Rakim, Rakim, Rakim, Rakim.
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.