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 Marshall Islands and from Lagos.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
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 Tears for Fears to the techno kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 John Holt. All the underground hits.
All Joyce Sims tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Yusef Lateef 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Charles Mingus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Maurizio,
Panda Bear,
Altered Images,
48th St. Collective,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Rosa Yemen,
John Lydon,
The Move,
Pussy Galore,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Seeds,
Main Source,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Lyres,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Peter & Gordon,
Loose Ends,
Joe Finger,
John Coltrane,
The Victims,
Pierre Henry,
June of 44,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Angry Samoans,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Red Krayola,
The Alarm Clocks,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Massinfluence,
Aaron Thompson,
The Toasters,
Sandy B,
New Age Steppers,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Warren Ellis,
Pere Ubu,
Sparks,
Radiopuhelimet,
Todd Terry,
June Days,
The Monks,
Skriet,
Agent Orange,
Basic Channel,
Grandmaster Flash,
Black Flag,
The Fortunes,
Amon Düül,
Archie Shepp,
John Cale,
Jandek,
The Shadows of Knight,
Amon Düül II,
The Beau Brummels,
Ohio Players,
Black Pus,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Kas Product,
A Flock of Seagulls,
the Bar-Kays,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Fat Boys, Fat Boys, Fat Boys, Fat Boys.
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.