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 Equatorial Guinea and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks to the techno 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 Kaleidoscope. All the underground hits.
All A Certain Ratio tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Heaven 17 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 an organ and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eve St. Jones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Monks,
Bobby Byrd,
The New Christs,
Scan 7,
Nas,
Jesper Dahlback,
Eric Copeland,
Flipper,
Barry Ungar,
Michelle Simonal,
Wings,
Q65,
Stiv Bators,
New Order,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Desert Stars,
In Retrospect,
Masters at Work,
KRS-One,
Ralphi Rosario,
Bauhaus,
The Techniques,
Fela Kuti,
Sexual Harrassment,
Dead Boys,
Roxy Music,
Max Romeo,
Fugazi,
cv313,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Flesh Eaters,
Youth Brigade,
Black Pus,
The Toasters,
David Bowie,
Saccharine Trust,
Country Teasers,
Gastr Del Sol,
Crash Course in Science,
Black Bananas,
The Smoke,
10cc,
Harry Pussy,
Reagan Youth,
Donald Byrd,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Nico,
Nils Olav,
Ice-T,
Minnie Riperton,
Kerrie Biddell,
Grey Daturas,
Josef K,
Archie Shepp,
Pere Ubu,
Bobby Sherman,
Darondo,
Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode.
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.