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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Glasgow.
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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Smog to the grunge kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Beasts of Bourbon. All the underground hits.
All Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sandy B record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Animal Collective record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Flag,
Yusef Lateef,
Juan Atkins,
Joe Finger,
Los Fastidios,
Y Pants,
ABBA,
Pussy Galore,
Michelle Simonal,
The Beau Brummels,
The Vogues,
Ice-T,
Maurizio,
the Fania All-Stars,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Joyce Sims,
Boz Scaggs,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Alphaville,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Black Sheep,
Marshall Jefferson,
Terrestrial Tones,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Divine Comedy,
The American Breed,
The Slackers,
Parry Music,
The Techniques,
Fugazi,
Eric B and Rakim,
Q and Not U,
Hoover,
Josef K,
Wally Richardson,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Lucky Dragons,
Roxette,
Surgeon,
Sällskapet,
Saccharine Trust,
Nick Fraelich,
Flamin' Groovies,
B.T. Express,
Soft Cell,
John Foxx,
The Wake,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Funkadelic,
Dark Day,
Gang of Four,
Severed Heads,
Leonard Cohen,
Magazine,
New York Dolls,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Toasters,
E-Dancer,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Loose Ends,
The Five Americans, The Five Americans, The Five Americans, The Five Americans.
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.