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 Belgium and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Throbbing Gristle to the funk 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 June of 44. All the underground hits.
All The Detroit Cobras tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Severed Heads record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Pretty Things record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Roxette,
The J.B.'s,
Hasil Adkins,
Chris Corsano,
The Pretty Things,
Model 500,
Los Fastidios,
Gang Starr,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
DNA,
Franke,
The Wake,
Barbara Tucker,
Erykah Badu,
Cybotron,
Icehouse,
Throbbing Gristle,
Organ,
Slave,
Crispy Ambulance,
Jeru the Damaja,
Fatback Band,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Funky Four + One,
Jeff Mills,
Eli Mardock,
Soulsonic Force,
The American Breed,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Brick,
David Axelrod,
New York Dolls,
Man Eating Sloth,
Jeff Lynne,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Derrick Morgan,
Cabaret Voltaire,
DJ Style,
Aswad,
Public Image Ltd.,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Section 25,
Half Japanese,
Anthony Braxton,
La Düsseldorf,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Walker Brothers,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Spandau Ballet,
Gong,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Stockholm Monsters,
Lebanon Hanover,
New Age Steppers,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Yellowson,
Unrelated Segments,
Kool Moe Dee,
Visage,
Basic Channel,
Gabor Szabo,
Monolake,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Lower 48, Lower 48, Lower 48, Lower 48.
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.