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 Namibia and from Philadelphia.
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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Angry Samoans to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 The Slackers. All the underground hits.
All Roxy Music tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Danielle Patucci 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T. Rex record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bang On A Can,
Robert Wyatt,
the Human League,
The Gladiators,
Grauzone,
Parry Music,
Mark Hollis,
Sister Nancy,
Gong,
Von Mondo,
Duran Duran,
Gang Gang Dance,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Avey Tare,
Sonic Youth,
Skaos,
The Mummies,
Public Image Ltd.,
Public Enemy,
Kaleidoscope,
Camouflage,
JFA,
Cheater Slicks,
Mr. Review,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Sarah Menescal,
The Knickerbockers,
Davy DMX,
Lightning Bolt,
Moss Icon,
Rakim,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
David Axelrod,
The Tremeloes,
Lakeside,
Bauhaus,
Joe Finger,
Neil Young,
Quando Quango,
Kool Moe Dee,
Warsaw,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Scientists,
Juan Atkins,
Jeru the Damaja,
Big Daddy Kane,
DJ Style,
Man Eating Sloth,
Hoover,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Slackers,
Little Man,
Excepter,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Kinks,
Chrome,
Black Bananas,
Cybotron,
the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell, the Soft Cell.
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.