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 Dominican Republic and from Manchester.
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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the marimba 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 Bootsy's Rubber Band to the punk 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 Strawberry Alarm Clock. All the underground hits.
All The Mojo Men tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Toni Rubio record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Blossom Toes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
H. Thieme,
R.M.O.,
Groovy Waters,
Marc Almond,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Zeros,
Johnny Clarke,
Organ,
Malaria!,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Frankie Knuckles,
UT,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Wake,
Alton Ellis,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Alice Coltrane,
Neil Young,
Kerrie Biddell,
Sparks,
The American Breed,
Prince Buster,
Delta 5,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Moebius,
A Flock of Seagulls,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Flamin' Groovies,
Clear Light,
The Cure,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Absolute Body Control,
Qualms,
Electric Prunes,
Pharoah Sanders,
cv313,
Traffic Nightmare,
Jeff Lynne,
Mo-Dettes,
Yazoo,
Rekid,
Wire,
Mary Jane Girls,
Public Image Ltd.,
Flipper,
Adolescents,
Bang On A Can,
Donald Byrd,
The Fall,
B.T. Express,
Nas,
Sun City Girls,
Little Man,
New Age Steppers,
Sam Rivers,
Panda Bear,
Unwound,
Tom Boy,
The Motions,
Lou Reed,
Cymande, Cymande, Cymande, Cymande.
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.