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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from New York.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 MDC to the rap kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Whodini. All the underground hits.
All The Victims tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kings Of Tomorrow 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 harpsichord and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jacques Brel,
Gichy Dan,
Connie Case,
The Remains,
the Fania All-Stars,
Marcia Griffiths,
Brothers Johnson,
Janne Schatter,
Eric Copeland,
Gang Starr,
Depeche Mode,
Cluster,
Flash Fearless,
Marshall Jefferson,
Fear,
Sound Behaviour,
The Fuzztones,
The Kinks,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
UT,
Motorama,
Zero Boys,
The Cramps,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
June of 44,
Bobby Byrd,
Juan Atkins,
Roxette,
Mad Mike,
Bootsy Collins,
The Move,
Soft Cell,
The Monks,
The Divine Comedy,
Ornette Coleman,
H. Thieme,
Drexciya,
Alison Limerick,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Monolake,
Ken Boothe,
Gastr Del Sol,
Bush Tetras,
Metal Thangz,
Sam Rivers,
Von Mondo,
New Order,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Bad Manners,
Procol Harum,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Andrew Hill,
Colin Newman,
Jacob Miller,
Subhumans,
Isaac Hayes,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Lou Christie,
Clear Light,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Red Krayola,
AZ,
Chris Corsano, Chris Corsano, Chris Corsano, Chris Corsano.
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.