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 Croatia and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Gladiators to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 PIL. All the underground hits.
All Piero Umiliani tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Junior Murvin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Human League record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Von Mondo,
Bad Manners,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
the Fania All-Stars,
Kool Moe Dee,
Andrew Hill,
Mad Mike,
Albert Ayler,
Mr. Review,
The Real Kids,
Tommy Roe,
Ultra Naté,
Deadbeat,
Faraquet,
Brass Construction,
Marine Girls,
K-Klass,
Sarah Menescal,
Freddie Wadling,
Electric Prunes,
Ponytail,
Cameo,
Tomorrow,
Pussy Galore,
Hashim,
Lindisfarne,
Amazonics,
Thee Headcoats,
Black Bananas,
Curtis Mayfield,
Angry Samoans,
It's A Beautiful Day,
James White and The Blacks,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Fat Boys,
Robert Hood,
Hasil Adkins,
Sällskapet,
EPMD,
Boogie Down Productions,
Roy Ayers,
Chrome,
Qualms,
The Names,
Todd Rundgren,
Anthony Braxton,
Marc Almond,
Yusef Lateef,
Joensuu 1685,
The Move,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Oblivians,
Soulsonic Force,
Lou Reed,
Kayak,
The Monochrome Set,
Ultimate Spinach,
Gregory Isaacs,
Arcadia,
Jandek,
Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat.
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.