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 Sierra Leone and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the theremin 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 Agitation Free to the grunge kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Blues Magoos. All the underground hits.
All Thompson Twins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Icehouse record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scion record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
T. Rex,
Matthew Bourne,
Skaos,
Country Teasers,
Lalo Schifrin,
Index,
Bronski Beat,
La Düsseldorf,
Jerry's Kids,
Charles Mingus,
The Motions,
Swans,
New Age Steppers,
Judy Mowatt,
The Red Krayola,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Cowsills,
Eric B and Rakim,
Sparks,
The Pretty Things,
Grey Daturas,
Jimmy McGriff,
B.T. Express,
Circle Jerks,
Franke,
Bush Tetras,
Tres Demented,
Man Parrish,
Ohio Players,
Scott Walker,
Toni Rubio,
Flipper,
John Coltrane,
Rekid,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Standells,
Excepter,
the Swans,
The Gun Club,
The Selecter,
Masters at Work,
the Slits,
Gang of Four,
Harpers Bizarre,
the Fania All-Stars,
Theoretical Girls,
Soft Cell,
Stereo Dub,
Monolake,
Television,
Echospace,
The Black Dice,
The Smoke,
Pantytec,
Cecil Taylor,
Nas,
Juan Atkins,
Joe Finger,
Harry Pussy,
Freddie Wadling,
Rites of Spring, Rites of Spring, Rites of Spring, Rites of Spring.
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.