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 Mali and from Bologna.
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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1976 at the first Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Detroit Cobras to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 The Cramps. All the underground hits.
All Unwound tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Men They Couldn't Hang record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James White and The Blacks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Symarip,
Index,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Cluster,
James White and The Blacks,
Can,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Saccharine Trust,
ABBA,
Aural Exciters,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Flash Fearless,
Simply Red,
The Moody Blues,
Toni Rubio,
In Retrospect,
Tomorrow,
Bang On A Can,
Moebius,
Pussy Galore,
Sparks,
Faust,
The Sound,
Maurizio,
Fela Kuti,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Newcleus,
The Gun Club,
The Vogues,
Vladislav Delay,
Derrick May,
Boogie Down Productions,
Clear Light,
Vainqueur,
Swell Maps,
Drive Like Jehu,
Hardrive,
Eddi Front,
Swans,
AZ,
The Black Dice,
Alton Ellis,
The Red Krayola,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Stooges,
Rod Modell,
Gong,
Sexual Harrassment,
Dawn Penn,
Eric Copeland,
Loose Ends,
The Smiths,
The Victims,
The Zeros,
Liliput,
Crispian St. Peters,
Dennis Brown,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Whodini,
Porter Ricks,
The Index, The Index, The Index, The Index.
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.