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 Ethiopia and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 sitar 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 Qualms to the crunk 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 Kool G Rap & DJ Polo. All the underground hits.
All Jeff Lynne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Iggy Pop record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Barclay James Harvest record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Barrington Levy,
Tubeway Army,
The Index,
The Monks,
Panda Bear,
Cecil Taylor,
Tres Demented,
June of 44,
Archie Shepp,
Talk Talk,
China Crisis,
Connie Case,
Amazonics,
The Smoke,
Suicide,
Mo-Dettes,
Monks,
Wolf Eyes,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Stereo Dub,
Theoretical Girls,
a-ha,
John Lydon,
Mary Jane Girls,
Nils Olav,
Fad Gadget,
Severed Heads,
Rites of Spring,
The Moleskins,
Con Funk Shun,
Clear Light,
Nick Fraelich,
The Walker Brothers,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Toni Rubio,
Lindisfarne,
Pantaleimon,
The Velvet Underground,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Star Department,
Flash Fearless,
Blake Baxter,
Agent Orange,
Slick Rick,
The Gories,
Prince Buster,
Andrew Hill,
Intrusion,
The Slackers,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Barry Ungar,
The Human League,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Liliput,
Traffic Nightmare,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Newcleus,
John Holt, John Holt, John Holt, John Holt.
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.