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 Luxembourg and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
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 Scratch Acid to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Lafayette Afro Rock Band. All the underground hits.
All Art Ensemble Of Chicago tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Chris Corsano 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Curtis Mayfield record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Index,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Judy Mowatt,
Surgeon,
Soul II Soul,
Sight & Sound,
Amazonics,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
KRS-One,
Man Eating Sloth,
Soft Cell,
Sister Nancy,
Heaven 17,
Symarip,
Kenny Larkin,
Y Pants,
Thompson Twins,
Unwound,
Nils Olav,
Pylon,
Au Pairs,
Stiv Bators,
Man Parrish,
Essential Logic,
The Skatalites,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Josef K,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Young Marble Giants,
Hashim,
Avey Tare,
Skarface,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Joyce Sims,
Kurtis Blow,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Toasters,
Lou Reed,
The Golliwogs,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Hoover,
Letta Mbulu,
Barbara Tucker,
EPMD,
Kaleidoscope,
Desert Stars,
Mark Hollis,
Rod Modell,
Quantec,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Scientists,
The Trojans,
Swans,
JFA,
Delta 5,
Reagan Youth,
Slick Rick,
Unrelated Segments,
Harmonia,
Duran Duran,
Make Up, Make Up, Make Up, Make Up.
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.