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 Congo and from Philadelphia.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Bang On A Can to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz. All the underground hits.
All Agent Orange tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bill Wells 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T. Rex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Judy Mowatt,
Neu!,
Groovy Waters,
The Saints,
Bad Manners,
The Blues Magoos,
Infiniti,
Saccharine Trust,
B.T. Express,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Wasted Youth,
kango's stein massive,
Jacques Brel,
Bizarre Inc.,
Moebius,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Mojo Men,
Oneida,
Nirvana,
Porter Ricks,
Carl Craig,
John Coltrane,
Los Fastidios,
The Gladiators,
Gang Gang Dance,
Tres Demented,
Outsiders,
Lebanon Hanover,
Skaos,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Popol Vuh,
Graham Central Station,
Soul II Soul,
Metal Thangz,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Doors,
Crooked Eye,
John Foxx,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Tubeway Army,
Mad Mike,
Moss Icon,
The Sonics,
Masters at Work,
U.S. Maple,
Jesper Dahlback,
Erasure,
Wolf Eyes,
The Fortunes,
H. Thieme,
The Gun Club,
Sällskapet,
Maurizio,
Cal Tjader,
The Golliwogs,
Kenny Larkin,
Radio Birdman,
Fela Kuti,
T. Rex,
Matthew Halsall,
Drexciya,
Wire,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Pylon, Pylon, Pylon, Pylon.
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.