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 Brunei and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 Donald Fagen 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 Eric B and Rakim to the punk 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 Iggy Pop. All the underground hits.
All Chrome tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lizzy Mercier Descloux 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sunsets and Hearts record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Yazoo,
The Happenings,
The Trojans,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Country Teasers,
James White and The Blacks,
Jerry's Kids,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Alarm Clocks,
Morten Harket,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Magma,
Barry Ungar,
Television Personalities,
Gichy Dan,
Saccharine Trust,
Amon Düül,
Scott Walker,
Traffic Nightmare,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Victims,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Fatback Band,
The Saints,
Clear Light,
Drive Like Jehu,
Brothers Johnson,
DJ Style,
The Techniques,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Rhythm & Sound,
Gang Starr,
Blossom Toes,
Marcia Griffiths,
Juan Atkins,
Bill Wells,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Simply Red,
Fat Boys,
Banda Bassotti,
Boogie Down Productions,
D'Angelo,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Oneida,
ABC,
Crooked Eye,
Shoche,
Terrestrial Tones,
Alphaville,
Second Layer,
Black Sheep,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Lou Christie,
Soft Cell,
Deepchord,
Altered Images,
ABBA,
the Sonics,
One Last Wish, One Last Wish, One Last Wish, One Last Wish.
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.