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 Montenegro and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1984.
I was there at the first Arcadia show in London.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 The Divine Comedy to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Camouflage. All the underground hits.
All Man Eating Sloth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Unrelated Segments 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lightning Bolt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Royal Trux,
Joe Finger,
Cheater Slicks,
Minny Pops,
Leonard Cohen,
Los Fastidios,
Joe Smooth,
Judy Mowatt,
the Sonics,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The New Christs,
Oneida,
The Velvet Underground,
Yazoo,
D'Angelo,
the Swans,
Liliput,
The Mummies,
Aural Exciters,
Henry Cow,
Graham Central Station,
Echospace,
Cybotron,
The Knickerbockers,
Livin' Joy,
Fela Kuti,
Albert Ayler,
Gong,
Scott Walker,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Supertramp,
Ornette Coleman,
Eli Mardock,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Sandy B,
B.T. Express,
Matthew Halsall,
Easy Going,
Faraquet,
the Germs,
Arab on Radar,
Electric Prunes,
The Angels of Light,
Reagan Youth,
Scion,
Eve St. Jones,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Franke,
Yusef Lateef,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Bad Manners,
Kayak,
Jeru the Damaja,
Idris Muhammad,
Wolf Eyes,
Black Pus,
Lalo Schifrin,
Pet Shop Boys,
Glambeats Corp.,
Niagra,
Nation of Ulysses,
Shuggie Otis,
Dawn Penn,
Bootsy Collins, Bootsy Collins, Bootsy Collins, Bootsy Collins.
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.