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 New Zealand and from Tehran.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Johnny Clarke to the jazz kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 World's Most. All the underground hits.
All The Trojans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Real Kids record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 Joe Finger record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rapeman,
Hot Snakes,
Harry Pussy,
Thompson Twins,
The Music Machine,
Scott Walker,
Quando Quango,
The Martian,
Con Funk Shun,
H. Thieme,
The Angels of Light,
Grauzone,
Swans,
Henry Cow,
Swell Maps,
Make Up,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Kaleidoscope,
Yellowson,
Matthew Halsall,
Joey Negro,
Soul II Soul,
This Heat,
Average White Band,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Funky Four + One,
Nico,
Rhythm & Sound,
Warren Ellis,
Junior Murvin,
Yazoo,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Moby Grape,
The Modern Lovers,
Angry Samoans,
Aaron Thompson,
The Happenings,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Kinks,
Blake Baxter,
Popol Vuh,
Rod Modell,
The Monks,
The Fuzztones,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Q and Not U,
Janne Schatter,
Hardrive,
Vladislav Delay,
The Beau Brummels,
Thee Headcoats,
Arcadia,
Symarip,
The Neon Judgement,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Ralphi Rosario,
Fear,
Marine Girls, Marine Girls, Marine Girls, Marine Girls.
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.