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 Monaco and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and New York.
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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 disco 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 The Red Krayola. All the underground hits.
All Theoretical Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Prince Buster record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Roger Hodgson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Angels of Light,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
The Dead C,
Sister Nancy,
Negative Approach,
The Remains,
Angry Samoans,
Colin Newman,
The Vogues,
Steve Hackett,
The Cramps,
Public Enemy,
Gong,
Eric Dolphy,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Man Eating Sloth,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Leaves,
The Electric Prunes,
the Germs,
LL Cool J,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Busters,
Donny Hathaway,
F. McDonald,
Vladislav Delay,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Glenn Branca,
The Invisible,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Wire,
Ituana,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Birthday Party,
DNA,
Scientists,
Hashim,
Man Parrish,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Lou Christie,
Grandmaster Flash,
Jeru the Damaja,
Liliput,
Johnny Osbourne,
Radiopuhelimet,
Freddie Wadling,
Letta Mbulu,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Harry Pussy,
Crash Course in Science,
Barbara Tucker,
Intrusion,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Oneida,
Kurtis Blow,
Nirvana,
Chris Corsano,
Monks,
Fluxion,
DJ Sneak,
Fifty Foot Hose,
U.S. Maple,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Althea and Donna, Althea and Donna, Althea and Donna, Althea and Donna.
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.