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 Jakarta.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 808 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 Man Parrish to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 48th St. Collective. All the underground hits.
All Barbara Tucker tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mad Mike record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a a-ha record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
Porter Ricks,
Desert Stars,
JFA,
Bill Near,
The Divine Comedy,
Tropical Tobacco,
the Bar-Kays,
DNA,
Aswad,
Das Ding,
Chrome,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Easy Going,
Radiohead,
John Lydon,
Los Fastidios,
The Real Kids,
The Neon Judgement,
Slave,
The Offenders,
Peter and Kerry,
Todd Rundgren,
These Immortal Souls,
Sister Nancy,
Deepchord,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Blackbyrds,
Sex Pistols,
The Music Machine,
Severed Heads,
Suburban Knight,
Thompson Twins,
Excepter,
The Pretty Things,
The Last Poets,
The Grass Roots,
Wally Richardson,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Sonics,
Cluster,
Throbbing Gristle,
Scientists,
The Remains,
Moby Grape,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
James White and The Blacks,
Bluetip,
The Angels of Light,
Maurizio,
The Techniques,
Lucky Dragons,
Barbara Tucker,
Cameo,
Gichy Dan,
Altered Images,
Roy Ayers,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Skarface,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Monolake,
Bang on a Can All-Stars, Bang on a Can All-Stars, Bang on a Can All-Stars, Bang on a Can All-Stars.
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.