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 Israel and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 spring reverb 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 Alison Limerick to the jazz kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 A Flock of Seagulls. All the underground hits.
All The Peanut Butter Conspiracy 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 funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a 808 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 theremin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Graham Central Station,
Piero Umiliani,
Interpol,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Erykah Badu,
Young Marble Giants,
The Golliwogs,
Sun City Girls,
Matthew Bourne,
The Fugs,
Robert Görl,
Lou Reed,
The Residents,
Faust,
MC5,
Lalann,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Index,
Jawbox,
Agent Orange,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Sarah Menescal,
Wire,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Ralphi Rosario,
Minnie Riperton,
Spoonie Gee,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
UT,
Man Parrish,
Pussy Galore,
Circle Jerks,
Tom Boy,
Khruangbin,
Crispy Ambulance,
Livin' Joy,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Tommy Roe,
Roy Ayers,
MDC,
Deepchord,
The Dirtbombs,
Darondo,
Malaria!,
Little Man,
A Flock of Seagulls,
KRS-One,
The Remains,
Traffic Nightmare,
Reagan Youth,
Bill Wells,
Fear,
Joe Smooth,
Unrelated Segments,
The Alarm Clocks,
Mo-Dettes,
Siglo XX,
Cecil Taylor,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
ABC,
The Misunderstood,
Newcleus, Newcleus, Newcleus, Newcleus.
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.