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 Solomon Islands and from Philadelphia.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 mellotron 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 Henry Cow to the grime kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Glambeats Corp.. All the underground hits.
All Sarah Menescal tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lizzy Mercier Descloux 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ponytail record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Shuggie Otis,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Birthday Party,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
A Flock of Seagulls,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Fugs,
Harry Pussy,
Stiv Bators,
Sun Ra,
Qualms,
Rufus Thomas,
Severed Heads,
Maurizio,
Kayak,
Basic Channel,
Crooked Eye,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Arthur Verocai,
New York Dolls,
Lower 48,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Vladislav Delay,
Robert Hood,
Fugazi,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Red Krayola,
The Litter,
Television,
Kerrie Biddell,
Pulsallama,
Harpers Bizarre,
B.T. Express,
Popol Vuh,
Oneida,
Zero Boys,
Outsiders,
The Cowsills,
Joy Division,
Sam Rivers,
Electric Prunes,
the Sonics,
Dawn Penn,
The New Christs,
Ornette Coleman,
Eden Ahbez,
Inner City,
Pantytec,
Siglo XX,
Carl Craig,
Joensuu 1685,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Nirvana,
Thee Headcoats,
Arab on Radar,
The Move,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Hot Snakes,
Warsaw,
Ken Boothe,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Raincoats, The Raincoats, The Raincoats, The Raincoats.
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.