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 Kazakhstan and from Lagos.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 Nile Rodgers 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 Hardrive to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Youth Brigade. All the underground hits.
All Bad Manners tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobby Sherman 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
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 Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Funkadelic,
John Coltrane,
Boz Scaggs,
Eric B and Rakim,
Cameo,
Man Eating Sloth,
Rosa Yemen,
Massinfluence,
The Slits,
The Blackbyrds,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Deakin,
Jeff Lynne,
The Smiths,
Throbbing Gristle,
Stetsasonic,
Black Pus,
Motorama,
Boogie Down Productions,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Camouflage,
Circle Jerks,
Sex Pistols,
Barrington Levy,
Steve Hackett,
Anakelly,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Qualms,
the Germs,
Albert Ayler,
Hasil Adkins,
New York Dolls,
Magazine,
David McCallum,
Crash Course in Science,
Rekid,
Livin' Joy,
David Axelrod,
Barclay James Harvest,
Bronski Beat,
Terrestrial Tones,
Tears for Fears,
Kevin Saunderson,
Main Source,
The Wake,
Dark Day,
The Dead C,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Associates,
Crime,
Index,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Arcadia,
Intrusion,
The Saints,
the Sonics,
Pylon,
Alison Limerick,
Joy Division,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Liliput,
The Monks,
The Leaves, The Leaves, The Leaves, The Leaves.
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.