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 Iceland and from Mexico City.
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 1963 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Seoul.
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 harpsichord 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 Archie Shepp to the disco kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft. All the underground hits.
All Dead Boys tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mandrill record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scrapy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fortunes,
Man Eating Sloth,
Average White Band,
The New Christs,
Talk Talk,
Arcadia,
Mission of Burma,
Cybotron,
Fluxion,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Warsaw,
Radiopuhelimet,
the Human League,
Motorama,
This Heat,
Surgeon,
Massinfluence,
Swans,
The Last Poets,
John Foxx,
The Mummies,
Fat Boys,
Cheater Slicks,
New Order,
The American Breed,
Television Personalities,
Kool Moe Dee,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Todd Terry,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Angels of Light,
AZ,
Das Ding,
Avey Tare,
Brick,
Metal Thangz,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Johnny Clarke,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Severed Heads,
The Searchers,
Grey Daturas,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Ten City,
One Last Wish,
X-102,
The Walker Brothers,
Lindisfarne,
Procol Harum,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Dark Day,
The Music Machine,
PIL,
Sugar Minott,
Drexciya,
Rites of Spring,
Radiohead,
Bob Dylan,
Warren Ellis,
Intrusion,
Eurythmics,
Cecil Taylor, Cecil Taylor, Cecil Taylor, Cecil Taylor.
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.