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 Liberia and from Glasgow.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 sitar 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 Lafayette Afro Rock Band to the rap 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 Funkadelic. All the underground hits.
All The Black Dice tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Supertramp record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Blackbyrds record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
B.T. Express,
Sound Behaviour,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Gong,
The Cramps,
June Days,
Jacques Brel,
The Invisible,
Boogie Down Productions,
Brand Nubian,
Alphaville,
EPMD,
Harry Pussy,
The Five Americans,
The Golliwogs,
Slick Rick,
The Offenders,
Slave,
Ronnie Foster,
Aural Exciters,
Soft Machine,
Black Bananas,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Barbara Tucker,
The Gladiators,
Harpers Bizarre,
Organ,
Glenn Branca,
Basic Channel,
Siglo XX,
E-Dancer,
Funky Four + One,
Roxette,
Banda Bassotti,
Section 25,
Pussy Galore,
Amon Düül,
Index,
Deakin,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Toasters,
Marc Almond,
Tres Demented,
The Star Department,
The Names,
Steve Hackett,
Los Fastidios,
Glambeats Corp.,
Althea and Donna,
Jeff Lynne,
Fad Gadget,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Deadbeat,
Eddi Front,
Public Enemy,
The Smiths,
The New Christs,
Minnie Riperton, Minnie Riperton, Minnie Riperton, Minnie Riperton.
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.