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 Tehran.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the organ 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 Hashim to the techno 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 Livin' Joy. All the underground hits.
All Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Severed Heads 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Alarm Clocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Theoretical Girls,
The Dirtbombs,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Graham Central Station,
Popol Vuh,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
the Human League,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Reagan Youth,
Magma,
Tim Buckley,
Sandy B,
Arab on Radar,
The Toasters,
Bill Wells,
Pet Shop Boys,
Davy DMX,
Terry Callier,
L. Decosne,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Index,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Faust,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Pole,
Sister Nancy,
Faraquet,
Arthur Verocai,
Symarip,
Rufus Thomas,
Barbara Tucker,
Johnny Clarke,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Angry Samoans,
Cymande,
The Young Rascals,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Bobby Womack,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Gastr Del Sol,
Young Marble Giants,
Colin Newman,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Bad Manners,
Gong,
Vladislav Delay,
Black Pus,
EPMD,
Second Layer,
Swans,
Wasted Youth,
Mad Mike,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Fela Kuti,
Donny Hathaway,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Suicide,
Kevin Saunderson,
Drive Like Jehu,
Matthew Bourne, Matthew Bourne, Matthew Bourne, Matthew Bourne.
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.