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 Cape Verde and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the snare 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 Subhumans to the disco kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Bush Tetras. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Sherman tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mars 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masters at Work record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Niagra,
L. Decosne,
Khruangbin,
The Invisible,
Shoche,
The Raincoats,
Rakim,
Dead Boys,
The Doors,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Lalann,
Derrick Morgan,
The Cowsills,
Crooked Eye,
the Normal,
Faraquet,
Theoretical Girls,
China Crisis,
Traffic Nightmare,
U.S. Maple,
The Real Kids,
F. McDonald,
Alice Coltrane,
Desert Stars,
Thee Headcoats,
Radiohead,
The Slackers,
Von Mondo,
Bobby Sherman,
The Shadows of Knight,
Jeru the Damaja,
Don Cherry,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Martian,
Lou Christie,
Saccharine Trust,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Fire Engines,
Rufus Thomas,
Marshall Jefferson,
Connie Case,
X-102,
Slick Rick,
Urselle,
Yaz,
Tomorrow,
Yellowson,
Inner City,
kango's stein massive,
Popol Vuh,
John Lydon,
AZ,
The Standells,
This Heat,
Rosa Yemen,
Au Pairs,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Minny Pops,
In Retrospect,
The Alarm Clocks,
Janne Schatter,
Public Enemy,
Swans, Swans, Swans, Swans.
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.