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 Barbados and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Sonics to the techno 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 Oneida. All the underground hits.
All Fifty Foot Hose tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Traffic Nightmare record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Five Americans,
Tropical Tobacco,
Buzzcocks,
The Detroit Cobras,
Joy Division,
Lightning Bolt,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
One Last Wish,
Lou Reed,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Vainqueur,
The Kinks,
Al Stewart,
Deakin,
Grandmaster Flash,
Mo-Dettes,
Spandau Ballet,
Mad Mike,
Sonic Youth,
Black Pus,
Tomorrow,
Sun City Girls,
Eve St. Jones,
Chris Corsano,
Average White Band,
Public Enemy,
U.S. Maple,
Animal Collective,
Guru Guru,
The Misunderstood,
Bobby Byrd,
Barclay James Harvest,
Bill Wells,
Pylon,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Minnie Riperton,
Blake Baxter,
Babytalk,
Gregory Isaacs,
Ludus,
Arcadia,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Zapp,
Grey Daturas,
Quantec,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
June Days,
the Bar-Kays,
Fugazi,
Sällskapet,
DNA,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Offenders,
Rotary Connection,
Gil Scott Heron,
Kenny Larkin,
The Skatalites,
Country Teasers,
Blancmange,
Harry Pussy,
Big Daddy Kane,
Brand Nubian,
Faraquet, Faraquet, Faraquet, Faraquet.
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.