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 Jamaica and from Mexico City.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Lille.
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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
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 Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme to the dance kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Sexual Harrassment. All the underground hits.
All Boz Scaggs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Skatalites record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jerry's Kids,
Pussy Galore,
Spandau Ballet,
The Black Dice,
Iggy Pop,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Smiths,
Infiniti,
Rites of Spring,
Roxette,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Eden Ahbez,
Swell Maps,
Neu!,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Guru Guru,
Fatback Band,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Symarip,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Skatalites,
Cameo,
X-Ray Spex,
The Victims,
Goldenarms,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Rhythm & Sound,
David McCallum,
the Swans,
Eve St. Jones,
This Heat,
The Seeds,
Warsaw,
Q65,
Gastr Del Sol,
Curtis Mayfield,
Pierre Henry,
Adolescents,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Drexciya,
Morten Harket,
Absolute Body Control,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Magma,
Sonny Sharrock,
the Fania All-Stars,
Aural Exciters,
Don Cherry,
Sonic Youth,
The Wake,
Yaz,
Qualms,
Moebius,
The Last Poets,
Barclay James Harvest,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Reuben Wilson,
The Motions,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Sparks, Sparks, Sparks, Sparks.
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.