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 Andorra and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 Nile Rodgers 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 Eric Copeland to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Kerrie Biddell. All the underground hits.
All Visage tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Deakin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Men They Couldn't Hang record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mary Jane Girls,
Girls At Our Best!,
Brothers Johnson,
Black Moon,
Index,
Radio Birdman,
The Techniques,
Fear,
Bootsy Collins,
Cluster,
Juan Atkins,
Todd Terry,
The Martian,
Howard Jones,
Hasil Adkins,
Panda Bear,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
8 Eyed Spy,
Pere Ubu,
Fat Boys,
Little Man,
Bill Wells,
The Flesh Eaters,
Grandmaster Flash,
Kayak,
Moss Icon,
Cheater Slicks,
Interpol,
Franke,
Harpers Bizarre,
Main Source,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Make Up,
Y Pants,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
New Age Steppers,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Hoover,
Quadrant,
Bronski Beat,
Gregory Isaacs,
Moebius,
Joensuu 1685,
Charles Mingus,
Jeff Mills,
June Days,
DNA,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Bizarre Inc.,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
New Order,
The Sound,
Rhythm & Sound,
D'Angelo,
Blake Baxter,
Connie Case,
The Gun Club,
The Litter,
The Human League,
Easy Going,
The New Christs,
The Last Poets, The Last Poets, The Last Poets, The Last Poets.
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.