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 Sudan and from Portland.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Fugazi to the grunge 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 The Martian. All the underground hits.
All Mark Hollis tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every X-102 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Index record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Bananas,
David Axelrod,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Wolf Eyes,
DJ Style,
Unwound,
Sun Ra,
Lou Christie,
The Techniques,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Doobie Brothers,
Outsiders,
Terry Callier,
Kerrie Biddell,
The J.B.'s,
The Happenings,
The Count Five,
The Detroit Cobras,
Kas Product,
Hoover,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Zapp,
Shuggie Otis,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Evens,
Hardrive,
The Saints,
Tom Boy,
the Normal,
The Slits,
Nas,
Gichy Dan,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Vogues,
Suburban Knight,
Grandmaster Flash,
Dual Sessions,
Sparks,
The Buckinghams,
Chrome,
48th St. Collective,
Nick Fraelich,
The Wake,
Grauzone,
ABC,
Barclay James Harvest,
Dead Boys,
Harry Pussy,
cv313,
Porter Ricks,
The Beau Brummels,
Camberwell Now,
Crime,
Section 25,
Patti Smith,
Sonny Sharrock,
Black Pus,
These Immortal Souls,
Black Moon,
EPMD,
Eric Dolphy,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans.
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.