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 Singapore and from Beijing.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 güiro 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 Ohio Players to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Neil Young & Crazy Horse. All the underground hits.
All Howard Jones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Oppenheimer Analysis 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Man Eating Sloth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
48th St. Collective,
Tommy Roe,
The Smoke,
Gang Green,
The Grass Roots,
The Beau Brummels,
Groovy Waters,
The Techniques,
Quando Quango,
Dorothy Ashby,
Steve Hackett,
Bush Tetras,
Tubeway Army,
Mission of Burma,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Country Joe & The Fish,
James White and The Blacks,
Tomorrow,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Residents,
Harry Pussy,
Ultimate Spinach,
Lindisfarne,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
The Standells,
John Coltrane,
Ludus,
Sam Rivers,
World's Most,
Gastr Del Sol,
the Human League,
Marine Girls,
Wire,
Mark Hollis,
Infiniti,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Star Department,
Deadbeat,
Sonic Youth,
Ice-T,
Tim Buckley,
Crooked Eye,
Gregory Isaacs,
Trumans Water,
Radiopuhelimet,
Little Man,
Dead Boys,
CMW,
The Golliwogs,
The Misunderstood,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Guru Guru,
Howard Jones,
Deakin,
Inner City,
Animal Collective,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Parry Music,
Amon Düül,
Albert Ayler,
Desert Stars,
Essential Logic,
Peter and Kerry, Peter and Kerry, Peter and Kerry, Peter and Kerry.
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.