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 Botswana and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Toronto.
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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 United States of America to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 X-101. All the underground hits.
All The Moody Blues tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mantronix record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Todd Rundgren record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Detroit Cobras,
Absolute Body Control,
Severed Heads,
Bill Wells,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Selecter,
Ice-T,
Black Bananas,
Von Mondo,
Bauhaus,
Mark Hollis,
Carl Craig,
Bill Near,
Barbara Tucker,
The Toasters,
The Slackers,
Arab on Radar,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Alarm Clocks,
Harry Pussy,
ABC,
Gabor Szabo,
Pharoah Sanders,
Desert Stars,
The New Christs,
Los Fastidios,
Cameo,
MC5,
Crooked Eye,
The Pop Group,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
kango's stein massive,
Faust,
Accadde A,
Clear Light,
Prince Buster,
Slave,
H. Thieme,
Minor Threat,
Skriet,
Rites of Spring,
Brass Construction,
Jawbox,
Neu!,
Vainqueur,
Radiohead,
The Smoke,
The Searchers,
Amon Düül,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Rosa Yemen,
Easy Going,
Scan 7,
Pere Ubu,
Jeff Lynne,
The Dead C,
Unwound,
Cal Tjader,
Brick,
Tres Demented,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth, Wasted Youth.
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.