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 Uganda and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Jesper Dahlbäck to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Gang of Four. All the underground hits.
All Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every New York Dolls 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Black Pus record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
8 Eyed Spy,
Man Eating Sloth,
X-Ray Spex,
Lindisfarne,
Maleditus Sound,
Dennis Brown,
Rhythm & Sound,
Grey Daturas,
Amon Düül,
Man Parrish,
Procol Harum,
The Kinks,
DNA,
Agent Orange,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Sam Rivers,
Crime,
Fatback Band,
Fela Kuti,
Bob Dylan,
Mary Jane Girls,
Tom Boy,
Anthony Braxton,
DJ Style,
Robert Hood,
The Flesh Eaters,
Hot Snakes,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Barrington Levy,
Infiniti,
The Monks,
Delon & Dalcan,
B.T. Express,
Alice Coltrane,
the Slits,
Glambeats Corp.,
Brick,
Excepter,
Boogie Down Productions,
Barry Ungar,
Bobby Womack,
Neu!,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Skarface,
Minny Pops,
Soft Cell,
Crispian St. Peters,
PIL,
Masters at Work,
Drive Like Jehu,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Real Kids,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Kas Product,
Negative Approach,
The Vogues,
Gastr Del Sol,
Smog,
The Martian,
Zapp, Zapp, Zapp, Zapp.
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.