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 Cape Verde and from Jakarta.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 clarinet 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 Flamin' Groovies to the punk 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 Fifty Foot Hose. All the underground hits.
All Girls At Our Best! tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eden Ahbez 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mantronix record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Alice Coltrane,
The Stooges,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Pretty Things,
cv313,
Barclay James Harvest,
Man Parrish,
Mad Mike,
The Evens,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Dead C,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Motions,
Public Enemy,
Donny Hathaway,
Second Layer,
Kerri Chandler,
Lyres,
The Selecter,
Bobby Womack,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Warsaw,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Slave,
Connie Case,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Red Krayola,
Oblivians,
Rosa Yemen,
The Knickerbockers,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Liliput,
Bill Near,
Angry Samoans,
Bluetip,
JFA,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Robert Görl,
Make Up,
Minnie Riperton,
John Holt,
Soulsonic Force,
The Associates,
The Birthday Party,
Con Funk Shun,
The Fall,
Black Flag,
Lakeside,
Glenn Branca,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Monks,
Lalo Schifrin,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Mighty Diamonds,
This Heat,
Mars,
Thee Headcoats,
The Names,
Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics.
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.