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 South Sudan and from Manila.
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 1961 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Whodini to the funk 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 Kango’s Stein Massive. All the underground hits.
All The Royal Family And The Poor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arcadia 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Excepter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Make Up,
Second Layer,
Mad Mike,
Letta Mbulu,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Graham Central Station,
Banda Bassotti,
Yazoo,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
John Foxx,
The Invisible,
Niagra,
Black Pus,
Wire,
Dual Sessions,
The American Breed,
The Monks,
Jawbox,
Icehouse,
The Seeds,
Fad Gadget,
These Immortal Souls,
The Pretty Things,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Todd Rundgren,
The Durutti Column,
Von Mondo,
Blake Baxter,
Slick Rick,
Robert Hood,
Liliput,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Brass Construction,
The Mummies,
Shuggie Otis,
Jeff Mills,
Lucky Dragons,
Lightning Bolt,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Cybotron,
Television Personalities,
Anakelly,
The Gap Band,
The Remains,
Don Cherry,
Ohio Players,
Michelle Simonal,
Angry Samoans,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Bush Tetras,
Crispian St. Peters,
New Age Steppers,
Byron Stingily,
Simply Red,
Unrelated Segments,
Deepchord,
Sight & Sound,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Procol Harum,
Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya, Drexciya.
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.