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 Estonia and from Paris.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Yusef Lateef to the rap 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 David Bowie. All the underground hits.
All Jacques Brel tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Wasted Youth 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nik Kershaw,
Angry Samoans,
The Music Machine,
Bad Manners,
The Raincoats,
The Skatalites,
Animal Collective,
8 Eyed Spy,
Tommy Roe,
Soft Cell,
a-ha,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Wake,
The Flesh Eaters,
Mad Mike,
The Remains,
the Slits,
Banda Bassotti,
Ludus,
Sunsets and Hearts,
New York Dolls,
Marshall Jefferson,
Youth Brigade,
Pierre Henry,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Bobby Womack,
Slave,
Sixth Finger,
Alice Coltrane,
AZ,
Simply Red,
One Last Wish,
The Last Poets,
The Gun Club,
Minnie Riperton,
Funky Four + One,
Urselle,
China Crisis,
Flash Fearless,
The Walker Brothers,
Radiohead,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Sonny Sharrock,
Nils Olav,
Reuben Wilson,
The Evens,
Brick,
Schoolly D,
Panda Bear,
Faraquet,
Albert Ayler,
Hardrive,
ABC,
Gerry Rafferty,
Lower 48,
Curtis Mayfield,
Mark Hollis,
Soul Sonic Force,
Harmonia,
The Sound,
The Electric Prunes,
Talk Talk, Talk Talk, Talk Talk, Talk Talk.
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.