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 Algeria and from Glasgow.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the theremin 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 Animal Collective to the rap 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 Black Bananas. All the underground hits.
All Strawberry Alarm Clock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Men They Couldn't Hang record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ice-T record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Moody Blues,
Robert Görl,
Matthew Halsall,
Surgeon,
Funky Four + One,
Alison Limerick,
Barry Ungar,
The Gladiators,
Bootsy Collins,
KRS-One,
The Five Americans,
Magma,
D'Angelo,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Mummies,
Brand Nubian,
Donald Byrd,
Throbbing Gristle,
Au Pairs,
Crime,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Blackbyrds,
The Kinks,
Cheater Slicks,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Los Fastidios,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Shadows of Knight,
Babytalk,
Flamin' Groovies,
Rites of Spring,
Mary Jane Girls,
Joe Smooth,
R.M.O.,
Accadde A,
Ultimate Spinach,
Average White Band,
X-Ray Spex,
Make Up,
Godley & Creme,
Amon Düül II,
Jeru the Damaja,
Mark Hollis,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
8 Eyed Spy,
Aural Exciters,
Pole,
Erykah Badu,
Bronski Beat,
Radio Birdman,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Index,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
John Foxx,
Roger Hodgson,
the Normal,
The Slits,
Tropical Tobacco,
Drive Like Jehu,
Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry.
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.