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 Qatar and from Bremen.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Funkadelic to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Symarip. All the underground hits.
All Roger Hodgson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mr. Review record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 harpsichord and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Slave record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
This Heat,
Stockholm Monsters,
Gang of Four,
Fort Wilson Riot,
La Düsseldorf,
Von Mondo,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Pop Group,
Newcleus,
Letta Mbulu,
The Trojans,
Zapp,
Spoonie Gee,
The Young Rascals,
Roy Ayers,
The Zeros,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
OOIOO,
The Toasters,
10cc,
Smog,
Matthew Halsall,
In Retrospect,
DNA,
Cal Tjader,
Andrew Hill,
The Star Department,
The Leaves,
Terry Callier,
Outsiders,
The Techniques,
Barry Ungar,
Circle Jerks,
The Happenings,
Minnie Riperton,
The Gun Club,
Model 500,
Charles Mingus,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Lou Reed,
Jawbox,
Tommy Roe,
Sixth Finger,
Al Stewart,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Talk Talk,
Franke,
Liliput,
Silicon Teens,
Khruangbin,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Gang Starr,
Brothers Johnson,
Jacques Brel,
Johnny Osbourne,
Eric Dolphy,
the Normal,
Darondo,
H. Thieme,
Skaos,
Jimmy McGriff,
Gong, Gong, Gong, Gong.
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.