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 Palau and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 marimba 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 The Associates to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Yaz. All the underground hits.
All Subhumans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sexual Harrassment 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 clarinet and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Inner City record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Anakelly,
Godley & Creme,
the Human League,
The Vogues,
Motorama,
Clear Light,
Yaz,
Lee Hazlewood,
Dawn Penn,
Amazonics,
Barbara Tucker,
Monolake,
Marc Almond,
Quantec,
James White and The Blacks,
New Order,
Spandau Ballet,
Roy Ayers,
Interpol,
Procol Harum,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Unwound,
Bizarre Inc.,
Bauhaus,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Los Fastidios,
Sight & Sound,
Amon Düül,
Don Cherry,
Deakin,
Livin' Joy,
Donny Hathaway,
Popol Vuh,
Joey Negro,
Mark Hollis,
Marmalade,
the Fania All-Stars,
Infiniti,
Pere Ubu,
Television,
the Slits,
Wally Richardson,
The Sonics,
The Seeds,
Roxy Music,
Andrew Hill,
Prince Buster,
David Bowie,
Robert Görl,
Aaron Thompson,
Robert Hood,
Negative Approach,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Tom Boy,
Guru Guru,
Erasure,
Magma,
The Mojo Men,
Liliput,
Sex Pistols,
Jeff Mills,
Sparks,
Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon.
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.