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 Qatar and from Shanghai.
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 1960 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the snare 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 Gories to the techno 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 Nils Olav. All the underground hits.
All Agent Orange tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Pus 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Golliwogs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Josef K,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Bob Dylan,
Lyres,
Stereo Dub,
Lightning Bolt,
The Star Department,
Bill Near,
The Searchers,
K-Klass,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
8 Eyed Spy,
Surgeon,
Gregory Isaacs,
Public Image Ltd.,
Eli Mardock,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Yellowson,
The Flesh Eaters,
Alphaville,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Pop Group,
Smog,
Wire,
Ten City,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
John Foxx,
Fugazi,
Y Pants,
Pagans,
Johnny Osbourne,
Oblivians,
Goldenarms,
Moby Grape,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Theoretical Girls,
Leonard Cohen,
Michelle Simonal,
Ralphi Rosario,
Iggy Pop,
Don Cherry,
Zero Boys,
The Move,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Angels of Light,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Moleskins,
Robert Görl,
Pet Shop Boys,
Niagra,
The Index,
Scott Walker,
Groovy Waters,
The Invisible,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Sandy B,
Interpol,
The Smoke,
Lou Reed,
Q and Not U,
Hardrive,
Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics.
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.