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 Barbados and from Accra.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Gary Puckett & The Union Gap to the punk 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 Ronnie Foster. All the underground hits.
All Little Man tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nick Fraelich record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lightning Bolt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Juan Atkins,
Eli Mardock,
H. Thieme,
Lou Christie,
Public Enemy,
Fear,
Bobby Womack,
The Stooges,
Jeff Mills,
The Evens,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Standells,
Pierre Henry,
Average White Band,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Electric Prunes,
Roxy Music,
Ralphi Rosario,
Deadbeat,
Skarface,
Letta Mbulu,
Avey Tare,
Groovy Waters,
Slick Rick,
The Motions,
Smog,
Accadde A,
The Busters,
Suburban Knight,
Gang Green,
Erasure,
Rakim,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
the Swans,
The Remains,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Toasters,
The Saints,
The Residents,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Amon Düül,
Faraquet,
X-101,
Funkadelic,
Roger Hodgson,
Alton Ellis,
Howard Jones,
B.T. Express,
Whodini,
Hot Snakes,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Smoke,
F. McDonald,
The Fire Engines,
Sixth Finger,
The Dirtbombs,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Black Flag,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
DJ Sneak,
Sam Rivers,
The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang.
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.