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 Egypt and from Delhi.
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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Sällskapet to the grime 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 The Detroit Cobras. All the underground hits.
All Motorama 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 rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Arab on Radar,
Pantytec,
Ultimate Spinach,
Barbara Tucker,
Monks,
Franke,
The Pop Group,
Jeff Lynne,
Ossler,
Crooked Eye,
Piero Umiliani,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Theoretical Girls,
The Barracudas,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Moebius,
Brick,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Tremeloes,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Cure,
Royal Trux,
Nico,
Technova,
Bootsy Collins,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Monolake,
A Certain Ratio,
Hoover,
The Doobie Brothers,
Sonny Sharrock,
These Immortal Souls,
One Last Wish,
Rod Modell,
The Star Department,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Make Up,
The Residents,
Tubeway Army,
Masters at Work,
Bang On A Can,
Minny Pops,
Bauhaus,
Ornette Coleman,
Ultra Naté,
Rufus Thomas,
Index,
Hashim,
Johnny Clarke,
The J.B.'s,
The Doors,
Eve St. Jones,
Black Flag,
Loose Ends,
The Litter,
Glenn Branca,
Roger Hodgson,
Procol Harum,
Arcadia,
Von Mondo,
Livin' Joy,
DJ Style,
Radiopuhelimet,
Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs, Au Pairs.
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.