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 Djibouti and from Jakarta.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band to the techno 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 Terror Squad Feat. Camron. All the underground hits.
All Nirvana tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Masters at Work 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Schoolly D record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dead C,
Glenn Branca,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Soul II Soul,
Ralphi Rosario,
Hoover,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Derrick Morgan,
Popol Vuh,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Toni Rubio,
Franke,
Excepter,
H. Thieme,
Los Fastidios,
The Last Poets,
The Monks,
Accadde A,
Country Teasers,
Jacob Miller,
The Fortunes,
Matthew Halsall,
Quadrant,
Sister Nancy,
Marshall Jefferson,
Lucky Dragons,
Crooked Eye,
the Sonics,
The Dirtbombs,
Zero Boys,
Donald Byrd,
The Offenders,
Soft Machine,
Joy Division,
Alphaville,
Maleditus Sound,
Howard Jones,
The Divine Comedy,
Aswad,
The Motions,
Pierre Henry,
Isaac Hayes,
The Moody Blues,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Dual Sessions,
Khruangbin,
The Smoke,
The Alarm Clocks,
June of 44,
Whodini,
Sun City Girls,
Young Marble Giants,
48th St. Collective,
Throbbing Gristle,
MC5,
The Gun Club,
Erasure,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Surgeon,
The Blackbyrds,
Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig.
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.