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 Bahrain and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 June of 44 to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Hot Snakes. All the underground hits.
All Kerrie Biddell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fela Kuti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ash Ra Tempel,
Easy Going,
ABBA,
Derrick Morgan,
Rapeman,
Newcleus,
Henry Cow,
David Axelrod,
Slave,
Dark Day,
The Grass Roots,
Boz Scaggs,
John Holt,
Khruangbin,
Archie Shepp,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Cecil Taylor,
The Barracudas,
Groovy Waters,
Byron Stingily,
Jacques Brel,
Eli Mardock,
Scrapy,
Fatback Band,
Buzzcocks,
Heaven 17,
Monks,
Skaos,
Scion,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Excepter,
Bill Wells,
Moebius,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Index,
Scan 7,
Youth Brigade,
A Certain Ratio,
Organ,
The Blues Magoos,
Mr. Review,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Animal Collective,
Funky Four + One,
Lucky Dragons,
John Foxx,
Al Stewart,
The Detroit Cobras,
Joey Negro,
Severed Heads,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Stetsasonic,
The Mummies,
The Seeds,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Andrew Hill,
X-101,
Marshall Jefferson,
Jeru the Damaja,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Barrington Levy,
Rotary Connection,
Robert Hood, Robert Hood, Robert Hood, Robert Hood.
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.