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 Costa Rica and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Kaleidoscope to the rap 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 Brand Nubian. All the underground hits.
All Notorious Big And Bone Thugs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crooked Eye record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Absolute Body Control record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Glenn Branca,
Rosa Yemen,
The Flesh Eaters,
Sexual Harrassment,
Can,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Ituana,
Eddi Front,
Sixth Finger,
Henry Cow,
Grandmaster Flash,
Groovy Waters,
Stiv Bators,
Lalann,
Faraquet,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Accadde A,
The Dirtbombs,
Alton Ellis,
Idris Muhammad,
The Five Americans,
Josef K,
Mandrill,
The Alarm Clocks,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Maleditus Sound,
Animal Collective,
Agitation Free,
Fugazi,
Girls At Our Best!,
Lindisfarne,
Ronan,
Max Romeo,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Sun City Girls,
the Association,
World's Most,
Q and Not U,
Angry Samoans,
Ornette Coleman,
Blake Baxter,
Black Sheep,
Yusef Lateef,
Reagan Youth,
The Slackers,
The Black Dice,
Dawn Penn,
The Angels of Light,
Michelle Simonal,
Kerri Chandler,
Amon Düül II,
The Golliwogs,
Joey Negro,
Suburban Knight,
Rapeman,
New York Dolls,
Sly & The Family Stone,
The Standells,
Steve Hackett,
Easy Going,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Mummies, The Mummies, The Mummies, The Mummies.
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.