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 San Marino and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 Manila and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 oboe 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 The J.B.'s to the techno 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 Anakelly. All the underground hits.
All The Pretty Things tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Flipper record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 48th St. Collective record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Kinks,
Joe Finger,
Camberwell Now,
Surgeon,
Tropical Tobacco,
June Days,
Stiv Bators,
Sister Nancy,
Panda Bear,
The Monks,
The Fortunes,
The Names,
The Sonics,
Skaos,
X-101,
Moss Icon,
The Stooges,
The Zeros,
Trumans Water,
Eric Dolphy,
The Moleskins,
Unwound,
June of 44,
Grey Daturas,
Nico,
the Normal,
Eric B and Rakim,
Shoche,
Qualms,
Sandy B,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Gang Gang Dance,
Thee Headcoats,
Rhythm & Sound,
Wire,
Gang Starr,
Harry Pussy,
Vainqueur,
Oneida,
Mad Mike,
Nirvana,
The Residents,
Bootsy Collins,
Arthur Verocai,
Isaac Hayes,
Pierre Henry,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Susan Cadogan,
Hashim,
In Retrospect,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Black Moon,
The Mojo Men,
Hardrive,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Section 25,
Glenn Branca,
Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman.
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.