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 Papua New Guinea and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Television Personalities to the funk 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 Eyeless In Gaza. All the underground hits.
All Hot Snakes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Fania All-Stars record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 mellotron and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Circle Jerks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crime,
The Star Department,
Adolescents,
Mantronix,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Slackers,
Nas,
Bad Manners,
Deepchord,
The Black Dice,
Absolute Body Control,
Sister Nancy,
The Alarm Clocks,
Scratch Acid,
EPMD,
Rekid,
Roger Hodgson,
Rapeman,
Sight & Sound,
Suicide,
Television,
The Gap Band,
Drive Like Jehu,
Kerri Chandler,
Index,
CMW,
Bootsy Collins,
Pussy Galore,
Silicon Teens,
Nils Olav,
Johnny Osbourne,
X-Ray Spex,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Whodini,
Aural Exciters,
June of 44,
Scan 7,
Andrew Hill,
Throbbing Gristle,
Popol Vuh,
Sonny Sharrock,
the Human League,
Spoonie Gee,
Ultravox,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Eric Copeland,
Jacob Miller,
Masters at Work,
The Golliwogs,
The Cure,
48th St. Collective,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Scientists,
The Doobie Brothers,
David Bowie,
New Age Steppers,
Slick Rick,
New York Dolls,
8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy, 8 Eyed Spy.
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.