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 Comoros and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 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 Ludus to the electroclash 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 Strawberry Alarm Clock. All the underground hits.
All Juan Atkins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Roy Ayers Ubiquity record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sexual Harrassment record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Curtis Mayfield,
T. Rex,
John Lydon,
Aural Exciters,
Neil Young,
The Moody Blues,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Rekid,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Parry Music,
Charles Mingus,
Newcleus,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Skriet,
Babytalk,
Unrelated Segments,
Robert Hood,
Delta 5,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Aaron Thompson,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Funky Four + One,
Pulsallama,
The Mojo Men,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Eric Dolphy,
Ultimate Spinach,
Shuggie Otis,
The Slits,
Alison Limerick,
Deadbeat,
Avey Tare,
Ludus,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Golliwogs,
X-102,
The Smoke,
Warren Ellis,
The Trojans,
Neu!,
Pylon,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Harry Pussy,
Sandy B,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Simply Red,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Last Poets,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Grass Roots,
Lower 48,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Joy Division,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Nik Kershaw,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Donald Byrd,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Rod Modell,
Idris Muhammad,
Spoonie Gee,
Throbbing Gristle,
Whodini, Whodini, Whodini, Whodini.
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.