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 Poland and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1965 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Bologna.
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 guitar 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 Vaughan Mason & Crew to the disco kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282. All the underground hits.
All Amazonics tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Cure 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Man Parrish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bill Wells,
Moby Grape,
Underground Resistance,
The United States of America,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Monks,
Shuggie Otis,
David Bowie,
Sister Nancy,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Litter,
Jimmy McGriff,
Aswad,
Babytalk,
Gang Gang Dance,
B.T. Express,
Arthur Verocai,
Alphaville,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Nas,
Skarface,
Fela Kuti,
the Slits,
The Five Americans,
Unrelated Segments,
Spandau Ballet,
Joyce Sims,
Terry Callier,
Goldenarms,
Albert Ayler,
Trumans Water,
Pharoah Sanders,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Detroit Cobras,
Newcleus,
The Beau Brummels,
Donny Hathaway,
Amon Düül,
The Sonics,
Bad Manners,
Erykah Badu,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Sun Ra,
The Fire Engines,
Scratch Acid,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Banda Bassotti,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
DNA,
Marshall Jefferson,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
MDC,
Wally Richardson,
K-Klass,
The Dead C,
The Invisible,
Thee Headcoats,
Colin Newman,
Judy Mowatt,
Faraquet, Faraquet, Faraquet, Faraquet.
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.