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 South Sudan and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Bauhaus to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Tropical Tobacco. All the underground hits.
All Lafayette Afro Rock Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Swans record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cramps record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
Mr. Review,
Intrusion,
Deakin,
Pulsallama,
Avey Tare,
Fear,
The Pretty Things,
Big Daddy Kane,
Echospace,
Icehouse,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Graham Central Station,
Warsaw,
Lou Christie,
Ohio Players,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Loose Ends,
Scan 7,
Terry Callier,
The Mummies,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Walker Brothers,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Slits,
Drexciya,
Letta Mbulu,
The Pop Group,
New York Dolls,
Oblivians,
Nick Fraelich,
Cymande,
Trumans Water,
Zapp,
The Knickerbockers,
Gabor Szabo,
Todd Terry,
48th St. Collective,
Jacob Miller,
Blancmange,
Todd Rundgren,
Mission of Burma,
Y Pants,
The Detroit Cobras,
Massinfluence,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Scion,
Fela Kuti,
Rekid,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Fugs,
Rosa Yemen,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Gastr Del Sol,
Popol Vuh,
Dawn Penn,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Bluetip,
The Saints,
Khruangbin,
The Barracudas,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Average White Band,
The Names, The Names, The Names, The Names.
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.