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 Nicaragua and from Madrid.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Laurel Aitken to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Unrelated Segments. All the underground hits.
All Ultra Naté tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Remains record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fifty Foot Hose,
Tim Buckley,
Y Pants,
Cameo,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Black Moon,
Panda Bear,
Whodini,
Kool Moe Dee,
Q65,
Von Mondo,
Absolute Body Control,
Harry Pussy,
Sun City Girls,
Sister Nancy,
David McCallum,
Donald Byrd,
The Detroit Cobras,
Pierre Henry,
Magma,
Robert Görl,
Dawn Penn,
The Cramps,
Radiopuhelimet,
Jerry's Kids,
Lyres,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Blake Baxter,
Graham Central Station,
the Normal,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Patti Smith,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
T.S.O.L.,
Brothers Johnson,
Metal Thangz,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Pantytec,
UT,
Brand Nubian,
Adolescents,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Qualms,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Walker Brothers,
FM Einheit,
The Gap Band,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Suicide,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Bobby Byrd,
Erasure,
Liliput,
Mars,
Ten City,
Connie Case,
Excepter,
the Human League,
The Mojo Men,
Swans,
James White and The Blacks, James White and The Blacks, James White and The Blacks, James White and The Blacks.
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.