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 Namibia and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1965 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Lucky Dragons to the funk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Kerri Chandler. All the underground hits.
All Crime tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Men They Couldn't Hang record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 rhodes and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Smoke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro 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?
Fela Kuti,
Kerrie Biddell,
Sällskapet,
Qualms,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Man Parrish,
The Star Department,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Jerry's Kids,
The Skatalites,
Au Pairs,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Cure,
Ultra Naté,
Tropical Tobacco,
Siglo XX,
Jacob Miller,
Lou Christie,
Con Funk Shun,
The Smiths,
Wally Richardson,
Barrington Levy,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Rufus Thomas,
Subhumans,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Hardrive,
Barclay James Harvest,
One Last Wish,
Lungfish,
Marvin Gaye,
Mark Hollis,
Pantytec,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Harmonia,
Judy Mowatt,
Rakim,
Radio Birdman,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Skriet,
Tubeway Army,
Urselle,
Wasted Youth,
Dorothy Ashby,
U.S. Maple,
Circle Jerks,
The Durutti Column,
The J.B.'s,
Supertramp,
Roy Ayers,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Whodini,
Masters at Work,
Pole,
Outsiders,
The Zeros,
Kerri Chandler,
The Dirtbombs,
Graham Central Station, Graham Central Station, Graham Central Station, Graham Central Station.
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.