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 East Timor and from Milan.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Flesh Eaters to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 The Real Kids. All the underground hits.
All Mission of Burma tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rekid 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a DJ Sneak record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Raincoats,
Iggy Pop,
Al Stewart,
Yazoo,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Television,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Yellowson,
EPMD,
Lungfish,
Gong,
Sex Pistols,
Tres Demented,
The Trojans,
The Detroit Cobras,
Funkadelic,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The American Breed,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Terrestrial Tones,
Drive Like Jehu,
Ralphi Rosario,
Franke,
The Golliwogs,
Jimmy McGriff,
Crime,
Darondo,
Marc Almond,
Bauhaus,
Idris Muhammad,
The Fire Engines,
The Doors,
Man Parrish,
Main Source,
Trumans Water,
The Young Rascals,
Clear Light,
Max Romeo,
Eli Mardock,
Tears for Fears,
Pylon,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Fugazi,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Lakeside,
Blake Baxter,
Big Daddy Kane,
Stiv Bators,
Porter Ricks,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Busters,
Parry Music,
U.S. Maple,
Nick Fraelich,
Andrew Hill,
Popol Vuh,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
One Last Wish,
Harpers Bizarre,
Negative Approach, Negative Approach, Negative Approach, Negative Approach.
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.