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 Lesotho 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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Laurel Aitken to the funk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 the Germs. All the underground hits.
All Heavy D & The Boyz tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sad Lovers and Giants record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lightning Bolt,
DJ Style,
DNA,
The Busters,
Sly & The Family Stone,
X-Ray Spex,
Susan Cadogan,
Toni Rubio,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Five Americans,
Banda Bassotti,
The Fall,
Newcleus,
T.S.O.L.,
Zapp,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Gil Scott Heron,
Tim Buckley,
The Fuzztones,
Model 500,
the Soft Cell,
The Count Five,
Todd Rundgren,
Jacques Brel,
The Real Kids,
The Leaves,
Angry Samoans,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
OOIOO,
the Germs,
Altered Images,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Black Dice,
U.S. Maple,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Standells,
MC5,
Bobby Womack,
Dawn Penn,
The Young Rascals,
Warsaw,
Eve St. Jones,
Vladislav Delay,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Rakim,
Idris Muhammad,
The Birthday Party,
Moby Grape,
Stetsasonic,
Ornette Coleman,
Ralphi Rosario,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Eurythmics,
The United States of America,
Radiohead,
The Blues Magoos,
Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes.
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.