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 Tonga and from Jakarta.
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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 Robert Palmer 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 Marmalade to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Wally Richardson. All the underground hits.
All Beasts of Bourbon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Khruangbin 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Techniques,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Peter & Gordon,
Blancmange,
The New Christs,
Crime,
The Move,
Harry Pussy,
Joe Finger,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Lakeside,
June of 44,
The Moleskins,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Toasters,
Jeff Lynne,
Lightning Bolt,
KRS-One,
Juan Atkins,
John Coltrane,
Ultimate Spinach,
Simply Red,
Mantronix,
The Buckinghams,
Slick Rick,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Cramps,
Robert Wyatt,
The Martian,
Lalann,
the Human League,
Anakelly,
Scan 7,
Little Man,
Judy Mowatt,
kango's stein massive,
The Pretty Things,
Lyres,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Velvet Underground,
Quando Quango,
The American Breed,
Freddie Wadling,
The Angels of Light,
The Grass Roots,
Faust,
The Alarm Clocks,
Grauzone,
The Leaves,
Howard Jones,
Crispian St. Peters,
Maleditus Sound,
Animal Collective,
These Immortal Souls,
The Golliwogs,
Sonic Youth,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Liliput,
Gregory Isaacs,
Jandek,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Half Japanese, Half Japanese, Half Japanese, Half Japanese.
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.