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 Lesotho and from Winnipeg.
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 1964 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Ituana to the rap 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 The Monochrome Set. All the underground hits.
All Lou Reed & John Cale tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Junior Murvin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Banda Bassotti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pierre Henry,
Josef K,
The Fugs,
Traffic Nightmare,
Yusef Lateef,
Liliput,
The Seeds,
Tres Demented,
Make Up,
Marc Almond,
The Evens,
the Fania All-Stars,
Trumans Water,
Stetsasonic,
China Crisis,
B.T. Express,
Visage,
Stiv Bators,
Black Flag,
The Fortunes,
Pussy Galore,
Pantaleimon,
The Electric Prunes,
Roger Hodgson,
48th St. Collective,
Robert Hood,
Ornette Coleman,
the Association,
Tim Buckley,
Ultra Naté,
Cybotron,
Althea and Donna,
Sex Pistols,
Colin Newman,
Agitation Free,
Joe Smooth,
Roy Ayers,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Slits,
Anthony Braxton,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Smoke,
Radiopuhelimet,
Godley & Creme,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Move,
The Trojans,
Sällskapet,
The Happenings,
Thompson Twins,
Sun Ra,
Blancmange,
Goldenarms,
Faust,
Amon Düül,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Rites of Spring,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Red Krayola,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Depeche Mode,
Yellowson,
Laurel Aitken,
The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators.
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.