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 Russia and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Flesh Eaters to the disco 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 Black Pus. All the underground hits.
All Robert Wyatt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rekid record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 a harpsichord and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mad Mike record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Radiohead,
Pussy Galore,
Von Mondo,
John Coltrane,
Electric Prunes,
Marc Almond,
Altered Images,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Scrapy,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Joe Smooth,
Shuggie Otis,
Accadde A,
New Order,
These Immortal Souls,
Minutemen,
The Monks,
Piero Umiliani,
Pere Ubu,
New York Dolls,
Marvin Gaye,
Carl Craig,
Easy Going,
Jeff Lynne,
Index,
Inner City,
Wasted Youth,
The Happenings,
A Certain Ratio,
Scientists,
The Grass Roots,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
the Swans,
Average White Band,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Marshall Jefferson,
Outsiders,
Ralphi Rosario,
Roy Ayers,
Thompson Twins,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
The Doobie Brothers,
Qualms,
Cecil Taylor,
MC5,
Visage,
Sonny Sharrock,
Metal Thangz,
Graham Central Station,
X-102,
Symarip,
B.T. Express,
Skriet,
The Offenders,
Ituana,
Panda Bear,
KRS-One,
Niagra,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Nico,
The Stooges, The Stooges, The Stooges, The Stooges.
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.