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 Bosnia Herzegovina 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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the güiro 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 Liaisons Dangereuses to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Interpol. All the underground hits.
All The Mojo Men tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Angry Samoans record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 chamberlin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Funky Four + One record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Selecter,
The Busters,
Roxette,
The Index,
The Saints,
Sex Pistols,
Spoonie Gee,
Bang On A Can,
Scratch Acid,
Kenny Larkin,
The Happenings,
The Doors,
Gabor Szabo,
Steve Hackett,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Eurythmics,
The Star Department,
Parry Music,
Nik Kershaw,
Lungfish,
The Cramps,
Monks,
Cybotron,
Smog,
Scott Walker,
Electric Light Orchestra,
DJ Style,
Dawn Penn,
The Toasters,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Adolescents,
Simply Red,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Kerrie Biddell,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Mars,
Mission of Burma,
Funky Four + One,
Heaven 17,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Bob Dylan,
June of 44,
F. McDonald,
Porter Ricks,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Maleditus Sound,
Fat Boys,
Lou Reed,
Lebanon Hanover,
the Slits,
The Neon Judgement,
Agent Orange,
Blake Baxter,
Pylon,
The Knickerbockers,
Henry Cow,
Cymande,
Black Bananas,
Royal Trux,
Mandrill,
Quando Quango,
Gregory Isaacs, Gregory Isaacs, Gregory Isaacs, Gregory Isaacs.
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.