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 Micronesia and from Madrid.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the rhodes 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 The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band to the punk 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 Magma. All the underground hits.
All Black Pus tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Reuben Wilson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Alice Coltrane,
Camouflage,
The Fall,
Tropical Tobacco,
Fad Gadget,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Gang Starr,
Q and Not U,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Rapeman,
Amazonics,
Gichy Dan,
The Busters,
Lalo Schifrin,
Vainqueur,
Ultra Naté,
Porter Ricks,
The Dirtbombs,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
New Order,
Pantaleimon,
The Gladiators,
Marcia Griffiths,
La Düsseldorf,
Colin Newman,
Y Pants,
Los Fastidios,
Theoretical Girls,
Scott Walker,
Eric Copeland,
The Names,
Al Stewart,
Sun Ra,
Section 25,
Steve Hackett,
Deakin,
The Monochrome Set,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Carl Craig,
Ohio Players,
L. Decosne,
Kayak,
Howard Jones,
Juan Atkins,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Ten City,
Kevin Saunderson,
Avey Tare,
The United States of America,
Todd Terry,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
John Lydon,
Flamin' Groovies,
Chris & Cosey,
Swell Maps,
DJ Sneak,
Robert Görl,
Piero Umiliani,
Newcleus,
Crime,
PIL,
Fatback Band, Fatback Band, Fatback Band, Fatback Band.
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.