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 New Zealand and from Houston.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 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 Richard Hell and the Voidoids to the grunge 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 The Index. All the underground hits.
All Morten Harket tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Terror Squad Feat. Camron record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grey Daturas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ten City,
Mars,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Vogues,
Joyce Sims,
Mad Mike,
The Golliwogs,
The Last Poets,
The Barracudas,
Maurizio,
Mission of Burma,
Organ,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Minny Pops,
Marcia Griffiths,
Barbara Tucker,
Grandmaster Flash,
Wolf Eyes,
Tim Buckley,
Lee Hazlewood,
Tropical Tobacco,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Black Dice,
Yaz,
La Düsseldorf,
Average White Band,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Henry Cow,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Monks,
Gastr Del Sol,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Pulsallama,
DJ Style,
Arthur Verocai,
Duran Duran,
Ronan,
Crime,
Thee Headcoats,
Sound Behaviour,
LL Cool J,
Depeche Mode,
Eric B and Rakim,
Jeff Lynne,
The Saints,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Move,
Bobby Byrd,
Dawn Penn,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
D'Angelo,
The Misunderstood,
Cameo,
Tom Boy,
Clear Light,
Popol Vuh,
JFA,
Cluster,
Ultimate Spinach,
Sarah Menescal,
Harmonia, Harmonia, Harmonia, Harmonia.
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.