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 Fiji and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 the Fania All-Stars to the punk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Charles Mingus. All the underground hits.
All The Slits tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Pop Group record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Richard Hell and the Voidoids record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
DNA,
Suicide,
Hasil Adkins,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The J.B.'s,
Lyres,
Harry Pussy,
Nick Fraelich,
Japan,
The Young Rascals,
Rhythm & Sound,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Jeff Lynne,
Easy Going,
Drexciya,
Can,
Prince Buster,
Fifty Foot Hose,
ABBA,
Cybotron,
Hot Snakes,
Mary Jane Girls,
Technova,
Robert Görl,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Young Marble Giants,
The Fugs,
Altered Images,
Jerry's Kids,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Chrome,
Byron Stingily,
Clear Light,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Rakim,
Blake Baxter,
Aloha Tigers,
Girls At Our Best!,
Lindisfarne,
Stetsasonic,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Joey Negro,
Symarip,
Derrick May,
Sexual Harrassment,
Bill Wells,
The Saints,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Remains,
The Barracudas,
The Gories,
Camouflage,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Electric Prunes,
Essential Logic,
The Happenings,
Public Enemy,
Mo-Dettes,
Crooked Eye,
Connie Case,
Eurythmics,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Rod Modell, Rod Modell, Rod Modell, Rod Modell.
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.