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 Solomon Islands and from Toronto.
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 1962 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 John Coltrane to the funk 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 Gian Franco Pienzio. All the underground hits.
All The Litter tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fifty Foot Hose 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Young Marble Giants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Underground Resistance,
Glambeats Corp.,
Johnny Clarke,
The Five Americans,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Evens,
Joyce Sims,
Alison Limerick,
Shoche,
the Slits,
Magma,
Marshall Jefferson,
The United States of America,
The Cure,
The Cowsills,
L. Decosne,
The Monks,
Japan,
The Victims,
Max Romeo,
The Leaves,
The Divine Comedy,
Whodini,
Lalo Schifrin,
Rapeman,
Dennis Brown,
Con Funk Shun,
Kaleidoscope,
John Foxx,
Sexual Harrassment,
Ituana,
Swans,
Bauhaus,
Soul Sonic Force,
Mr. Review,
Moebius,
Schoolly D,
Siglo XX,
Silicon Teens,
Wolf Eyes,
Camberwell Now,
Glenn Branca,
Visage,
Camouflage,
AZ,
In Retrospect,
EPMD,
Colin Newman,
Aloha Tigers,
Eric B and Rakim,
Pet Shop Boys,
Janne Schatter,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Kenny Larkin,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Lebanon Hanover,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Roxy Music,
Country Teasers,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Smoke,
Infiniti,
Gang Gang Dance,
the Normal, the Normal, the Normal, the Normal.
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.