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 Uruguay and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez 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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Crispy Ambulance to the jazz kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Porter Ricks. All the underground hits.
All James Chance & The Contortions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Radiohead 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Barracudas,
Arcadia,
World's Most,
Rites of Spring,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Echospace,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Scion,
Cluster,
Crime,
Ultimate Spinach,
Funkadelic,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Charles Mingus,
La Düsseldorf,
Piero Umiliani,
Max Romeo,
Smog,
Liliput,
Mission of Burma,
The Cowsills,
The Gap Band,
Kenny Larkin,
Dorothy Ashby,
E-Dancer,
Los Fastidios,
The Moody Blues,
Monolake,
June of 44,
Bob Dylan,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Roger Hodgson,
Sällskapet,
Urselle,
Graham Central Station,
Terrestrial Tones,
Mandrill,
Johnny Clarke,
Neu!,
Minny Pops,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Soulsonic Force,
Monks,
R.M.O.,
Intrusion,
Rekid,
Television,
Sandy B,
Angry Samoans,
The Buckinghams,
Sun City Girls,
The Mojo Men,
Model 500,
Marine Girls,
Robert Wyatt,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Blancmange,
Goldenarms,
Tom Boy,
Albert Ayler,
Duran Duran,
the Germs,
The Velvet Underground,
The Wake, The Wake, The Wake, The Wake.
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.