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 Senegal and from Johannesburg.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 linndrum 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 Bootsy Collins to the rock kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Tropical Tobacco. All the underground hits.
All Camouflage tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every R.M.O. 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Vainqueur,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Byron Stingily,
Parry Music,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Hot Snakes,
The Doors,
Scrapy,
Reagan Youth,
Crispy Ambulance,
Lalann,
Pagans,
Bobby Byrd,
Index,
Ludus,
Eve St. Jones,
Bronski Beat,
the Swans,
The Gap Band,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Busters,
Rhythm & Sound,
Cameo,
Black Pus,
Lou Christie,
Moby Grape,
Franke,
Oblivians,
Todd Rundgren,
Steve Hackett,
Isaac Hayes,
Blossom Toes,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Pantaleimon,
Make Up,
Minutemen,
Hoover,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Wake,
Neu!,
Danielle Patucci,
Matthew Halsall,
Barrington Levy,
Arcadia,
Wire,
Khruangbin,
The Fall,
Kerri Chandler,
Sister Nancy,
Jacques Brel,
Altered Images,
Procol Harum,
The Leaves,
Wally Richardson,
Magma,
The Names,
Surgeon,
Model 500,
Jeff Lynne,
Moss Icon,
DJ Style,
Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar, Barry Ungar.
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.