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 Nicaragua and from Philadelphia.
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 1960 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Calgary and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the 808 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 Art Ensemble Of Chicago to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell. All the underground hits.
All Barrington Levy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gong record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jeru the Damaja record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bob Dylan,
Guru Guru,
Bootsy Collins,
AZ,
Boredoms,
Desert Stars,
Surgeon,
Goldenarms,
Khruangbin,
Babytalk,
Average White Band,
The Slits,
Mission of Burma,
The Alarm Clocks,
Brothers Johnson,
Zero Boys,
The J.B.'s,
Ossler,
This Heat,
Minnie Riperton,
Cybotron,
The Barracudas,
Gang Starr,
Yellowson,
Kayak,
Dual Sessions,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Whodini,
Crispy Ambulance,
D'Angelo,
Kenny Larkin,
the Fania All-Stars,
Kas Product,
Pagans,
Joe Smooth,
The Five Americans,
Bill Wells,
Masters at Work,
Sex Pistols,
Frankie Knuckles,
Amon Düül II,
Young Marble Giants,
Prince Buster,
Jeru the Damaja,
Derrick Morgan,
The Detroit Cobras,
Popol Vuh,
Delon & Dalcan,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Television,
Don Cherry,
The Beau Brummels,
Arab on Radar,
Albert Ayler,
Barbara Tucker,
Thee Headcoats,
Bizarre Inc.,
Pussy Galore,
X-101,
The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs.
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.