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 Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Whodini to the crunk 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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282. All the underground hits.
All Letta Mbulu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rufus Thomas record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T. Rex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Porter Ricks,
X-Ray Spex,
Mo-Dettes,
The Sonics,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Soulsonic Force,
Jacques Brel,
Eric Copeland,
Bob Dylan,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
F. McDonald,
Schoolly D,
Khruangbin,
Loose Ends,
Theoretical Girls,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
K-Klass,
Chris & Cosey,
Black Flag,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Average White Band,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Alarm Clocks,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Motions,
Joyce Sims,
Albert Ayler,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
The Names,
Leonard Cohen,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Doobie Brothers,
Bill Near,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Doors,
Simply Red,
Can,
The Kinks,
Eddi Front,
A Certain Ratio,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Kayak,
R.M.O.,
Minutemen,
Todd Rundgren,
The Invisible,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Vainqueur,
Bizarre Inc.,
Moebius,
The Sound,
Country Teasers,
Byron Stingily,
Banda Bassotti,
Sam Rivers,
The Detroit Cobras,
Absolute Body Control,
Jimmy McGriff,
Oneida,
Erasure,
The Toasters,
Blake Baxter, Blake Baxter, Blake Baxter, Blake Baxter.
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.