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 Albania and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the snare 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 J.B.'s to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Terror Squad Feat. Camron. All the underground hits.
All Jerry Gold Smith tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Oppenheimer Analysis record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a One Last Wish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Make Up,
Steve Hackett,
Zapp,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Divine Comedy,
Sonic Youth,
Junior Murvin,
World's Most,
B.T. Express,
Half Japanese,
Kayak,
Clear Light,
Delta 5,
Slave,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Intrusion,
Theoretical Girls,
Interpol,
Fad Gadget,
Talk Talk,
The Mummies,
D'Angelo,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Lindisfarne,
Maurizio,
Excepter,
The Invisible,
Colin Newman,
Ultravox,
Eric B and Rakim,
Tropical Tobacco,
Pet Shop Boys,
Shoche,
Royal Trux,
Marine Girls,
The Searchers,
New Order,
Bootsy Collins,
The Selecter,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Jeru the Damaja,
Q and Not U,
Robert Hood,
Chrome,
Rakim,
Piero Umiliani,
Franke,
Pussy Galore,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Jawbox,
Cluster,
Altered Images,
Connie Case,
Janne Schatter,
Mission of Burma,
Dennis Brown,
The Smiths,
Gabor Szabo,
Tommy Roe,
a-ha,
Main Source,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Deadbeat,
Radio Birdman, Radio Birdman, Radio Birdman, Radio Birdman.
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.