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 Slovakia and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron 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 1961 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Sisters of Mercy to the crunk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 John Coltrane. All the underground hits.
All Liliput tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mo-Dettes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wings,
DJ Style,
Rhythm & Sound,
Maurizio,
Marine Girls,
Roxette,
48th St. Collective,
Swans,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Reuben Wilson,
June of 44,
Model 500,
Newcleus,
Porter Ricks,
a-ha,
Magazine,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Sam Rivers,
ABC,
B.T. Express,
Yazoo,
Bush Tetras,
The Standells,
Minor Threat,
Ultra Naté,
Rufus Thomas,
Monolake,
Lightning Bolt,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Grey Daturas,
The Sonics,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Young Rascals,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Minny Pops,
Crash Course in Science,
Piero Umiliani,
The Dave Clark Five,
Essential Logic,
Thee Headcoats,
the Human League,
Bluetip,
Jerry's Kids,
Tres Demented,
Eddi Front,
Skaos,
The Star Department,
Pere Ubu,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Country Teasers,
The Kinks,
It's A Beautiful Day,
La Düsseldorf,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sandy B,
The Mummies,
Hot Snakes,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Lee Hazlewood,
Neil Young,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes, Justin Hinds & The Dominoes, Justin Hinds & The Dominoes, Justin Hinds & The Dominoes.
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.