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 Equatorial Guinea and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 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 Quadrant to the rap 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 Lindisfarne. All the underground hits.
All Unwound tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Todd Terry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Names record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Roxette,
Harpers Bizarre,
Funkadelic,
Half Japanese,
Magazine,
Throbbing Gristle,
Brick,
Malaria!,
MDC,
Icehouse,
Drive Like Jehu,
Judy Mowatt,
Crispy Ambulance,
DNA,
The Smiths,
the Association,
Gang Starr,
Magma,
The Electric Prunes,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Durutti Column,
Depeche Mode,
Bob Dylan,
The Knickerbockers,
The Doobie Brothers,
Little Man,
Supertramp,
The Gladiators,
Tim Buckley,
The Motions,
Johnny Osbourne,
One Last Wish,
In Retrospect,
Nick Fraelich,
It's A Beautiful Day,
the Fania All-Stars,
Pantaleimon,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Motorama,
Wolf Eyes,
Grauzone,
James White and The Blacks,
John Foxx,
Anthony Braxton,
Soft Cell,
Leonard Cohen,
Qualms,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Aloha Tigers,
Pussy Galore,
New Order,
Charles Mingus,
Scientists,
Arab on Radar,
Lebanon Hanover,
Kaleidoscope,
Aaron Thompson,
The United States of America,
Popol Vuh,
Rakim,
Henry Cow,
Adolescents,
Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment.
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.