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 Eritrea and from Beijing.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 Michael McDonald 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 Glenn Branca to the crunk 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 Fifty Foot Hose. All the underground hits.
All Jandek tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eden Ahbez record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bob Dylan record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Icehouse,
Popol Vuh,
Big Daddy Kane,
Dark Day,
Soft Cell,
T. Rex,
Eve St. Jones,
Archie Shepp,
Crispy Ambulance,
Soulsonic Force,
Qualms,
Intrusion,
Wasted Youth,
Lindisfarne,
Spoonie Gee,
Subhumans,
Quadrant,
The Slackers,
Skarface,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Alice Coltrane,
Sun Ra,
Crispian St. Peters,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Inner City,
Das Ding,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Sugar Minott,
Junior Murvin,
Young Marble Giants,
Gong,
Flash Fearless,
Depeche Mode,
The Neon Judgement,
The Residents,
Amon Düül,
Michelle Simonal,
Rod Modell,
Echospace,
Bush Tetras,
Ludus,
the Germs,
EPMD,
A Flock of Seagulls,
U.S. Maple,
L. Decosne,
Magma,
Pulsallama,
The Leaves,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Velvet Underground,
Deakin,
Rotary Connection,
Vainqueur,
Thee Headcoats,
Slick Rick,
Technova,
Lou Christie,
The Stooges,
The Happenings,
Thompson Twins,
Gang of Four,
Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus.
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.