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 Dominica and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the guitar 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 The Fire Engines to the grunge kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Pussy Galore. All the underground hits.
All Eric Copeland tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Doors 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oppenheimer Analysis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Yellowson,
AZ,
David Bowie,
The Walker Brothers,
The Last Poets,
Eric B and Rakim,
Drive Like Jehu,
Gang Starr,
China Crisis,
Amon Düül,
This Heat,
The Techniques,
Skriet,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Searchers,
Joey Negro,
Dawn Penn,
Gastr Del Sol,
Funkadelic,
Nik Kershaw,
Nirvana,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Lyres,
Danielle Patucci,
Harpers Bizarre,
the Sonics,
Bauhaus,
Absolute Body Control,
Bobby Sherman,
Nico,
Crispian St. Peters,
Wire,
Donald Byrd,
Goldenarms,
Bush Tetras,
a-ha,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Black Pus,
Harmonia,
Interpol,
The Neon Judgement,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Cramps,
The New Christs,
Chrome,
Liliput,
Ronan,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Flash Fearless,
Freddie Wadling,
Crooked Eye,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Alphaville,
John Cale,
The Happenings,
Glenn Branca,
Shuggie Otis,
Faraquet,
Main Source,
The Saints,
Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones.
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.