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 Montenegro and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 harpsichord 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 Last Poets to the grunge 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 Neil Young & Crazy Horse. All the underground hits.
All The Moleskins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Television record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fugazi record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Bush Tetras,
The Shadows of Knight,
This Heat,
L. Decosne,
The Fall,
Khruangbin,
The Monochrome Set,
E-Dancer,
The Move,
Susan Cadogan,
The Martian,
The Fugs,
the Germs,
Sun Ra,
Porter Ricks,
Barry Ungar,
Patti Smith,
Donny Hathaway,
Amon Düül II,
Ronan,
Kurtis Blow,
Jesper Dahlback,
Delon & Dalcan,
Harry Pussy,
the Slits,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The United States of America,
X-Ray Spex,
Young Marble Giants,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Graham Central Station,
Eric B and Rakim,
Pylon,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Detroit Cobras,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Fortunes,
Kas Product,
DJ Style,
Brick,
Royal Trux,
Pulsallama,
Joey Negro,
Bluetip,
The Count Five,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Roy Ayers,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
T.S.O.L.,
Crooked Eye,
Leonard Cohen,
The Barracudas,
Hardrive,
Minny Pops,
Scrapy,
Country Teasers,
Lalo Schifrin,
Procol Harum,
Eden Ahbez,
The Red Krayola,
The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters, The Flesh Eaters.
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.