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 Sierra Leone 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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Johannesburg.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Standells to the dance kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Easy Going. All the underground hits.
All The Motions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every 8 Eyed Spy 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Newcleus,
T. Rex,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Eden Ahbez,
Scott Walker,
the Normal,
The Raincoats,
Sarah Menescal,
The Star Department,
Stiv Bators,
The Electric Prunes,
Sonny Sharrock,
Frankie Knuckles,
Mandrill,
Neil Young,
H. Thieme,
Oneida,
The Knickerbockers,
Malaria!,
Bob Dylan,
Nation of Ulysses,
Vladislav Delay,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Johnny Clarke,
Shuggie Otis,
The Velvet Underground,
Lou Christie,
Piero Umiliani,
Von Mondo,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Five Americans,
Rod Modell,
Wings,
The Golliwogs,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Moleskins,
Chrome,
Joy Division,
Byron Stingily,
The Zeros,
Patti Smith,
48th St. Collective,
Clear Light,
Section 25,
Lightning Bolt,
Parry Music,
The Searchers,
Bang On A Can,
The Mummies,
Q65,
Main Source,
Essential Logic,
Mission of Burma,
Kool Moe Dee,
Rotary Connection,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Slits,
Peter & Gordon,
Whodini,
This Heat,
Gang Starr,
Robert Görl,
Rekid,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.