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 Fiji and from Johannesburg.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the oboe 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 Music Machine to the rap kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Glambeats Corp.. All the underground hits.
All Das Ding tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bootsy's Rubber Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 harpsichord and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Pop Group record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
X-Ray Spex,
Agent Orange,
Siglo XX,
Soft Cell,
Cecil Taylor,
The Pretty Things,
Donald Byrd,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Brothers Johnson,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Bad Manners,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Neil Young,
John Cale,
Animal Collective,
Blake Baxter,
The Grass Roots,
The Selecter,
Tubeway Army,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Laurel Aitken,
Make Up,
Rosa Yemen,
Kerrie Biddell,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Funky Four + One,
Hashim,
Crime,
Ken Boothe,
Marshall Jefferson,
Man Eating Sloth,
Toni Rubio,
Lou Reed,
The Wake,
Electric Prunes,
Roy Ayers,
Carl Craig,
The Gladiators,
The Neon Judgement,
Skaos,
Eurythmics,
June of 44,
Excepter,
Crash Course in Science,
Pere Ubu,
Average White Band,
Suicide,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
D'Angelo,
DJ Sneak,
Camouflage,
F. McDonald,
Radiohead,
Cal Tjader,
Marvin Gaye,
Q and Not U,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Black Moon,
Fugazi,
Lightning Bolt,
Chris & Cosey,
Soulsonic Force, Soulsonic Force, Soulsonic Force, Soulsonic Force.
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.