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 Monaco and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1969 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 Captain Beefheart 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 Alphaville to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Altered Images. All the underground hits.
All DNA tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Yazoo record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Seeds record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Procol Harum,
DNA,
Spandau Ballet,
Crash Course in Science,
Black Sheep,
Barclay James Harvest,
Joensuu 1685,
The Tremeloes,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Hardrive,
The Gap Band,
The Remains,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
the Normal,
Moebius,
Erasure,
Magma,
Dawn Penn,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Basic Channel,
Angry Samoans,
The Pretty Things,
Fear,
The United States of America,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Audionom,
Hoover,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Main Source,
Radiopuhelimet,
Marcia Griffiths,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Monks,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
A Certain Ratio,
Sun City Girls,
Chris Corsano,
The Angels of Light,
Skarface,
Inner City,
Crispian St. Peters,
Gang Green,
Minnie Riperton,
Metal Thangz,
Dennis Brown,
The Victims,
Livin' Joy,
8 Eyed Spy,
Jeff Mills,
Severed Heads,
These Immortal Souls,
Robert Wyatt,
Malaria!,
Sonny Sharrock,
Tubeway Army,
Tropical Tobacco,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Wally Richardson,
Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance.
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.