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 Thailand and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1960 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Sexual Harrassment to the rap 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 Rufus Thomas. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed & Metallica tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Thompson Twins record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 chamberlin and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Funky Four + One record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cheater Slicks,
Stereo Dub,
a-ha,
Dawn Penn,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Faust,
Glenn Branca,
Eden Ahbez,
Popol Vuh,
Charles Mingus,
Pylon,
John Coltrane,
Scratch Acid,
Scott Walker,
Hot Snakes,
Chrome,
Amazonics,
Symarip,
The Martian,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Litter,
Gerry Rafferty,
Bluetip,
Todd Rundgren,
Wasted Youth,
Derrick May,
The Leaves,
B.T. Express,
Boogie Down Productions,
Arcadia,
Henry Cow,
the Soft Cell,
Swell Maps,
Boredoms,
Con Funk Shun,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Jacques Brel,
Nico,
The Techniques,
Yusef Lateef,
Johnny Osbourne,
Grey Daturas,
The Gun Club,
Bush Tetras,
World's Most,
Gang Gang Dance,
Dead Boys,
Royal Trux,
Hoover,
Max Romeo,
Essential Logic,
Cluster,
Steve Hackett,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
David Axelrod,
Organ,
the Fania All-Stars,
David McCallum,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Laurel Aitken,
Echospace, Echospace, Echospace, Echospace.
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.