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 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 The Birthday Party to the rock 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 The Cure. All the underground hits.
All Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pylon 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terry Callier record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lungfish,
Big Daddy Kane,
Young Marble Giants,
Grey Daturas,
Sugar Minott,
Sister Nancy,
Connie Case,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Kurtis Blow,
Joe Smooth,
The Durutti Column,
Dead Boys,
Deadbeat,
L. Decosne,
Crispy Ambulance,
Swell Maps,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Gabor Szabo,
Fugazi,
Blancmange,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Matthew Halsall,
The Offenders,
Pantytec,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Gap Band,
Crash Course in Science,
Babytalk,
The Seeds,
Mars,
The Count Five,
The Golliwogs,
Scion,
Amon Düül,
The Index,
Junior Murvin,
The Music Machine,
Aswad,
Alton Ellis,
Half Japanese,
The Beau Brummels,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Liliput,
The Black Dice,
Icehouse,
Stockholm Monsters,
Prince Buster,
Popol Vuh,
Procol Harum,
Terrestrial Tones,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Pulsallama,
Arab on Radar,
The Angels of Light,
Trumans Water,
DJ Sneak,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
the Sonics,
Bush Tetras,
Barrington Levy,
The Fall,
John Coltrane,
Roxy Music, Roxy Music, Roxy Music, Roxy Music.
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.