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 Bahrain and from Edmonton.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Louis and Bebe Barron to the dance 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 Yaz. All the underground hits.
All Graham Central Station tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Boogie Down Productions 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eve St. Jones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Panda Bear,
Black Pus,
Althea and Donna,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Barry Ungar,
Schoolly D,
The Star Department,
Terrestrial Tones,
Thee Headcoats,
Maleditus Sound,
Underground Resistance,
the Slits,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Ronan,
Pussy Galore,
The Cowsills,
Bob Dylan,
Cymande,
Sam Rivers,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Victims,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Young Marble Giants,
Joyce Sims,
Tropical Tobacco,
Aswad,
Gang Green,
Mandrill,
Dark Day,
The Misunderstood,
Colin Newman,
The Alarm Clocks,
Tommy Roe,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Detroit Cobras,
Y Pants,
Sun Ra,
Brothers Johnson,
Bush Tetras,
Sight & Sound,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Oneida,
Chris Corsano,
John Coltrane,
Patti Smith,
Wolf Eyes,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Toni Rubio,
Cecil Taylor,
The Associates,
Pharoah Sanders,
AZ,
A Certain Ratio,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Matthew Bourne,
Pierre Henry,
Gabor Szabo,
Rod Modell,
The Black Dice,
Amon Düül,
Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas.
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.