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 Solomon Islands and from Copenhagen.
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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the organ 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 Marine Girls to the grime kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 DNA. All the underground hits.
All Erasure tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fire Engines 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Johnny Clarke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nas,
The Martian,
Audionom,
Schoolly D,
Royal Trux,
Swell Maps,
The Angels of Light,
Arcadia,
Jacob Miller,
The Doors,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Vainqueur,
Porter Ricks,
Livin' Joy,
Todd Terry,
Moby Grape,
Icehouse,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Khruangbin,
Shuggie Otis,
Monks,
T. Rex,
Patti Smith,
The Zeros,
Reuben Wilson,
David Axelrod,
The Trojans,
Banda Bassotti,
Smog,
The Monks,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Andrew Hill,
The Mummies,
Scan 7,
Half Japanese,
The Fortunes,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Jacques Brel,
Pussy Galore,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Stooges,
The Dead C,
The Human League,
Rotary Connection,
F. McDonald,
Chrome,
The Dirtbombs,
the Swans,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Traffic Nightmare,
Erasure,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Charles Mingus,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Ohio Players,
Black Bananas,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Gang of Four,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Robert Wyatt,
The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks.
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.