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 Paraguay and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1960 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Accra.
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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the snare 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 Rod Modell to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Leaves. All the underground hits.
All Wally Richardson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every These Immortal Souls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Barclay James Harvest,
Vainqueur,
Simply Red,
Animal Collective,
Arab on Radar,
Scion,
Depeche Mode,
Don Cherry,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Count Five,
June of 44,
Soft Cell,
Bill Wells,
Ponytail,
Sexual Harrassment,
Public Image Ltd.,
Wasted Youth,
Spoonie Gee,
Arthur Verocai,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Urselle,
The Fire Engines,
Crispy Ambulance,
Section 25,
The Slackers,
Pagans,
Gang Green,
Erasure,
Moby Grape,
John Coltrane,
ABC,
Organ,
The Evens,
Stetsasonic,
Oneida,
Qualms,
Anthony Braxton,
The Selecter,
Judy Mowatt,
Sex Pistols,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Chrome,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Skarface,
Main Source,
The Smiths,
Severed Heads,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Young Rascals,
Smog,
Cal Tjader,
The Durutti Column,
Adolescents,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
New Age Steppers,
Pylon,
John Holt,
Procol Harum,
Easy Going,
Warren Ellis,
D'Angelo,
Scientists,
The Pop Group, The Pop Group, The Pop Group, The Pop Group.
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.