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 Honduras and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 clarinet 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 Amazonics to the disco kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Nas. All the underground hits.
All The Seeds tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ajijia Myrayebe 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 synthesizer and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terry Callier record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tommy Roe,
Ice-T,
Funky Four + One,
Drexciya,
Susan Cadogan,
Robert Görl,
Young Marble Giants,
Cecil Taylor,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Agent Orange,
The Victims,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Suicide,
Suburban Knight,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Crooked Eye,
Brand Nubian,
The Red Krayola,
Talk Talk,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Model 500,
Bush Tetras,
D'Angelo,
Newcleus,
Blake Baxter,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Yusef Lateef,
Youth Brigade,
Rosa Yemen,
Country Teasers,
Byron Stingily,
The Slackers,
Kool Moe Dee,
Nas,
Peter & Gordon,
Bill Near,
Hoover,
Second Layer,
David Axelrod,
Metal Thangz,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Tropical Tobacco,
Scion,
Cameo,
Dawn Penn,
Duran Duran,
The Cramps,
the Normal,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
MC5,
The Detroit Cobras,
Frankie Knuckles,
Sugar Minott,
Public Enemy,
X-Ray Spex,
Darondo,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Magazine,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
R.M.O.,
Crispian St. Peters,
Strawberry Alarm Clock, Strawberry Alarm Clock, Strawberry Alarm Clock, Strawberry Alarm Clock.
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.