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 Iran and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 The Detroit Cobras to the funk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 The Martian. All the underground hits.
All Underground Resistance tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 a synthesizer and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Royal Family And The Poor 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?
Jeff Mills,
Bad Manners,
Cabaret Voltaire,
R.M.O.,
the Normal,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
the Slits,
The Five Americans,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Junior Murvin,
The Blackbyrds,
L. Decosne,
Wire,
U.S. Maple,
Terry Callier,
The Mummies,
Second Layer,
Shuggie Otis,
Brand Nubian,
The Gories,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Jeru the Damaja,
Bobby Hutcherson,
John Coltrane,
Desert Stars,
the Fania All-Stars,
Tears for Fears,
CMW,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Erykah Badu,
Ultra Naté,
Chris & Cosey,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Brothers Johnson,
The Index,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Gichy Dan,
Arthur Verocai,
The Knickerbockers,
Black Pus,
Minutemen,
Man Parrish,
Matthew Halsall,
Buzzcocks,
Zapp,
Babytalk,
Howard Jones,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Mandrill,
Ultravox,
The Invisible,
Gang Starr,
Television,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Electric Prunes,
Wally Richardson,
The Kinks,
Jimmy McGriff,
Hardrive,
Essential Logic,
Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown.
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.