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 Thailand and from Madrid.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the marimba 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 Oneida to the jazz kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Angels of Light. All the underground hits.
All Dorothy Ashby tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Human League record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 an arpeggiator and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Donald Byrd record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Shadows of Knight,
Avey Tare,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Icehouse,
The Toasters,
The Remains,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Bobby Byrd,
The Raincoats,
The Blackbyrds,
Ornette Coleman,
Gang Starr,
Scion,
Moby Grape,
Steve Hackett,
Erasure,
Half Japanese,
Fifty Foot Hose,
MDC,
Delta 5,
Jawbox,
Roy Ayers,
Zero Boys,
Hardrive,
Oneida,
Aaron Thompson,
Jeru the Damaja,
Swell Maps,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Mr. Review,
The Vogues,
The Sonics,
T.S.O.L.,
Anthony Braxton,
Peter & Gordon,
Outsiders,
The Divine Comedy,
Crime,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
D'Angelo,
AZ,
F. McDonald,
Kayak,
Flamin' Groovies,
Swans,
Surgeon,
The Seeds,
Marine Girls,
John Cale,
Mission of Burma,
Rhythm & Sound,
DJ Style,
Rod Modell,
The Gories,
Das Ding,
Camouflage,
X-Ray Spex,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Jandek,
The Litter,
The Blues Magoos,
Janne Schatter,
Reagan Youth,
The Music Machine,
Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas.
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.