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 Korea North and from Glasgow.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Roy Ayers to the dance 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 Pantaleimon. All the underground hits.
All Kevin Saunderson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pantytec record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Alarm Clocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Glenn Branca,
Joey Negro,
Roger Hodgson,
Tommy Roe,
Jerry's Kids,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Robert Görl,
The Dead C,
Rotary Connection,
Lakeside,
Gabor Szabo,
Bobby Womack,
Second Layer,
Mars,
Kerri Chandler,
Moss Icon,
Maurizio,
Swans,
Nico,
The Move,
Niagra,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Detroit Cobras,
Glambeats Corp.,
Slick Rick,
Metal Thangz,
Khruangbin,
Banda Bassotti,
Porter Ricks,
Boredoms,
Wolf Eyes,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Cymande,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Spandau Ballet,
Alice Coltrane,
Hasil Adkins,
Masters at Work,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Mandrill,
Tropical Tobacco,
Con Funk Shun,
Morten Harket,
The Evens,
Severed Heads,
Skarface,
Hashim,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Excepter,
The Smoke,
The Gladiators,
Saccharine Trust,
Dead Boys,
Peter & Gordon,
Ultravox,
The Mummies,
Gang Green,
the Slits,
Oblivians,
Half Japanese,
Soft Machine,
Swell Maps, Swell Maps, Swell Maps, Swell Maps.
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.