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 East Timor and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Marc Almond to the techno kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 The Neon Judgement. All the underground hits.
All The Standells tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Soul Sonic Force 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Brick record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Das Ding,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Black Bananas,
Kenny Larkin,
Eve St. Jones,
Audionom,
Chris Corsano,
The Monks,
Byron Stingily,
Shuggie Otis,
The Martian,
Severed Heads,
Wally Richardson,
Connie Case,
Half Japanese,
Y Pants,
The Smiths,
Wasted Youth,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Metal Thangz,
Intrusion,
Ludus,
The Dirtbombs,
Cymande,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Bronski Beat,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
John Coltrane,
Lalann,
Oblivians,
Kurtis Blow,
Aaron Thompson,
Drive Like Jehu,
Theoretical Girls,
The Tremeloes,
Khruangbin,
B.T. Express,
Pantaleimon,
Eric Dolphy,
New Order,
The Remains,
Main Source,
Donald Byrd,
Peter & Gordon,
The Fuzztones,
Fear,
Brand Nubian,
The Star Department,
Pulsallama,
Zero Boys,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
JFA,
Pussy Galore,
Negative Approach,
Bobby Sherman,
Magazine,
Radiopuhelimet,
Kas Product,
The Velvet Underground,
48th St. Collective, 48th St. Collective, 48th St. Collective, 48th St. Collective.
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.