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 Russia and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Rod Modell to the grunge 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 Gang Gang Dance. All the underground hits.
All Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Stiv Bators record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 theremin and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Litter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deakin,
Hasil Adkins,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Von Mondo,
Main Source,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Malaria!,
F. McDonald,
Minny Pops,
The Buckinghams,
Stockholm Monsters,
Bauhaus,
Flash Fearless,
Al Stewart,
Gabor Szabo,
Sarah Menescal,
The Doors,
Suicide,
Section 25,
Davy DMX,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Fire Engines,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Q65,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Talk Talk,
Boredoms,
Marvin Gaye,
Alphaville,
Radiopuhelimet,
Minutemen,
Marc Almond,
Television,
Half Japanese,
the Soft Cell,
Fela Kuti,
Crispian St. Peters,
Infiniti,
Man Parrish,
Accadde A,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Metal Thangz,
Outsiders,
Mr. Review,
Motorama,
Juan Atkins,
The Move,
Lakeside,
The Grass Roots,
Con Funk Shun,
Rufus Thomas,
Sam Rivers,
David Bowie,
Judy Mowatt,
Eric Dolphy,
The Offenders,
Maleditus Sound,
Zero Boys,
James White and The Blacks,
The Zeros,
Jandek,
Wolf Eyes, Wolf Eyes, Wolf Eyes, Wolf Eyes.
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.