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 Eritrea and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Cheater Slicks to the techno 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 Lou Christie. All the underground hits.
All Black Sheep tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pussy Galore 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eyeless In Gaza record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ohio Players,
The Martian,
Desert Stars,
Bill Wells,
Moebius,
The American Breed,
Aaron Thompson,
Lee Hazlewood,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Spoonie Gee,
This Heat,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Porter Ricks,
The Slackers,
John Foxx,
Crispian St. Peters,
Sandy B,
Essential Logic,
Sound Behaviour,
Bobby Womack,
the Slits,
AZ,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Y Pants,
The Gories,
Clear Light,
Slave,
Wings,
Jeff Lynne,
Jeru the Damaja,
Sam Rivers,
David Axelrod,
Pagans,
Massinfluence,
China Crisis,
Minnie Riperton,
Rites of Spring,
Robert Wyatt,
Alice Coltrane,
The Index,
Erasure,
Das Ding,
Mary Jane Girls,
June of 44,
Jesper Dahlback,
A Certain Ratio,
Oneida,
World's Most,
Minutemen,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
K-Klass,
The Associates,
Judy Mowatt,
Pharoah Sanders,
Metal Thangz,
The Misunderstood,
Boogie Down Productions,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Sound,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Subhumans,
June Days,
Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson, Wally Richardson.
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.