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 Malawi and from Johannesburg.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 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 B.T. Express to the funk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Kerri Chandler. All the underground hits.
All Procol Harum tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rakim record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Slits record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Leaves,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
EPMD,
The Barracudas,
UT,
This Heat,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Lower 48,
Whodini,
Derrick Morgan,
F. McDonald,
Soft Machine,
The Black Dice,
June Days,
Section 25,
The Kinks,
Morten Harket,
Qualms,
Marvin Gaye,
Pantaleimon,
The Martian,
The Human League,
World's Most,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Kenny Larkin,
Sound Behaviour,
Bad Manners,
Flamin' Groovies,
Severed Heads,
Don Cherry,
John Holt,
The Count Five,
Cal Tjader,
Fluxion,
Eurythmics,
T. Rex,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Golliwogs,
Lalann,
DNA,
Spandau Ballet,
Lalo Schifrin,
Royal Trux,
Ornette Coleman,
Zapp,
Porter Ricks,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Ohio Players,
Masters at Work,
Q and Not U,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Ice-T,
Skaos,
Marmalade,
Rod Modell,
Arthur Verocai,
Harry Pussy,
The Cramps,
Young Marble Giants,
Donald Byrd, Donald Byrd, Donald Byrd, Donald Byrd.
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.