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 Palau and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Royal Trux to the crunk 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 Avey Tare. All the underground hits.
All Youth Brigade tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mars 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oneida,
Ralphi Rosario,
Deakin,
Moss Icon,
Organ,
The Fugs,
The Music Machine,
Eve St. Jones,
Warsaw,
New Order,
Judy Mowatt,
Isaac Hayes,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Mantronix,
The Misunderstood,
Glenn Branca,
Animal Collective,
Quadrant,
Deepchord,
Kool Moe Dee,
Cameo,
Bizarre Inc.,
Brand Nubian,
Mandrill,
The Selecter,
Scratch Acid,
Lalo Schifrin,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Tim Buckley,
Desert Stars,
Talk Talk,
Technova,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Neon Judgement,
Swans,
Scan 7,
Patti Smith,
H. Thieme,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Trumans Water,
Sex Pistols,
Yazoo,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Max Romeo,
Ornette Coleman,
Duran Duran,
Black Flag,
Sister Nancy,
These Immortal Souls,
Inner City,
Silicon Teens,
Interpol,
Wally Richardson,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Brothers Johnson,
Wasted Youth,
David Bowie,
Unrelated Segments,
Eddi Front,
Harry Pussy,
10cc, 10cc, 10cc, 10cc.
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.