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 Chad and from Portland.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the organ 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 Camouflage to the crunk 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 The Doors. All the underground hits.
All Fugazi tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fatback Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bluetip,
The Searchers,
Fad Gadget,
The Litter,
The Golliwogs,
Kas Product,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Leaves,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Joey Negro,
The Gun Club,
Dawn Penn,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Neil Young,
Dorothy Ashby,
Crash Course in Science,
Negative Approach,
Inner City,
Interpol,
Black Moon,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Byron Stingily,
Easy Going,
The Pretty Things,
Franke,
Procol Harum,
Talk Talk,
Rotary Connection,
Aswad,
The Seeds,
the Bar-Kays,
Lungfish,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Danielle Patucci,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Guru Guru,
Throbbing Gristle,
Eve St. Jones,
Soulsonic Force,
Blake Baxter,
Judy Mowatt,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Minor Threat,
Wings,
Ice-T,
Lalo Schifrin,
Junior Murvin,
UT,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Grass Roots,
Lyres,
Barrington Levy,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Alarm Clocks,
Pussy Galore,
Gil Scott Heron,
Black Sheep,
Robert Hood,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Sister Nancy,
The Offenders,
Cymande,
The Saints, The Saints, The Saints, The Saints.
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.