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 Dominica and from Paris.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Eurythmics to the punk 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 Pere Ubu. All the underground hits.
All Los Fastidios tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Public Enemy 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Durutti Column,
Swell Maps,
Average White Band,
Glenn Branca,
Dennis Brown,
Television,
Thompson Twins,
Sarah Menescal,
Gong,
Boredoms,
Arthur Verocai,
Joensuu 1685,
U.S. Maple,
Nik Kershaw,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Bob Dylan,
Matthew Bourne,
Jesper Dahlback,
Outsiders,
Yaz,
Kayak,
UT,
Hashim,
Surgeon,
New Order,
Ornette Coleman,
The Techniques,
Radio Birdman,
Colin Newman,
The Stooges,
Letta Mbulu,
Motorama,
Avey Tare,
The Cure,
Siglo XX,
Blossom Toes,
Prince Buster,
Slave,
Jeru the Damaja,
Mo-Dettes,
Barclay James Harvest,
Tubeway Army,
Gang Starr,
Toni Rubio,
Lightning Bolt,
Spandau Ballet,
Hot Snakes,
Interpol,
Flash Fearless,
Minor Threat,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Terrestrial Tones,
Nirvana,
The Dead C,
Freddie Wadling,
Maleditus Sound,
Negative Approach,
Agent Orange,
Rosa Yemen,
Deepchord,
Magma,
New Age Steppers,
The Electric Prunes,
Black Moon, Black Moon, Black Moon, Black Moon.
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.