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 Tanzania and from Manila.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Teenage Jesus and the Jerks to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Cybotron. All the underground hits.
All Nas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pylon 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Niagra record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Music Machine,
The Fugs,
AZ,
Royal Trux,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Roxette,
Sarah Menescal,
Gang of Four,
Hoover,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Marcia Griffiths,
Al Stewart,
Electric Light Orchestra,
F. McDonald,
ABBA,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Spoonie Gee,
Rufus Thomas,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Tremeloes,
Rotary Connection,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Masters at Work,
48th St. Collective,
The J.B.'s,
Rhythm & Sound,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Moody Blues,
Amon Düül II,
Gichy Dan,
Mantronix,
Rakim,
Can,
Nico,
The Misunderstood,
Spandau Ballet,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Nation of Ulysses,
Roger Hodgson,
Zapp,
Nick Fraelich,
Porter Ricks,
Sparks,
Interpol,
Kenny Larkin,
Moebius,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Jandek,
John Lydon,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Stockholm Monsters,
Unwound,
The Divine Comedy,
X-Ray Spex,
Alphaville,
Bang On A Can,
Animal Collective,
the Bar-Kays,
Dark Day,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Faust,
U.S. Maple,
Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes.
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.