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 Iran and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Albert Ayler to the funk 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 Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band. All the underground hits.
All F. McDonald tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Bar-Kays record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Red Krayola,
The Modern Lovers,
Terry Callier,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Johnny Clarke,
Desert Stars,
The Standells,
Girls At Our Best!,
New York Dolls,
Zapp,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Talk Talk,
Ultimate Spinach,
Boredoms,
Todd Rundgren,
Glambeats Corp.,
Monolake,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Main Source,
Morten Harket,
Ash Ra Tempel,
AZ,
The Neon Judgement,
Mary Jane Girls,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Eden Ahbez,
Neu!,
Lou Reed,
Moss Icon,
The Invisible,
Audionom,
The Remains,
Whodini,
Zero Boys,
The Cramps,
Roxette,
Frankie Knuckles,
Stiv Bators,
Byron Stingily,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
B.T. Express,
Jacob Miller,
Barbara Tucker,
Tommy Roe,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Swell Maps,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Black Bananas,
Joy Division,
Yaz,
Q and Not U,
Malaria!,
Panda Bear,
Wolf Eyes,
Scott Walker,
the Sonics,
Don Cherry,
Babytalk,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Bootsy Collins,
Ultra Naté, Ultra Naté, Ultra Naté, Ultra Naté.
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.