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 Somalia and from Jakarta.
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 1963 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 MDC to the rap kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Major Organ And The Adding Machine. All the underground hits.
All Crispian St. Peters 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 dance 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 marimba and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Spoonie Gee record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cure,
Trumans Water,
Pulsallama,
Vainqueur,
Clear Light,
June Days,
The Fuzztones,
Deepchord,
Robert Wyatt,
Soul II Soul,
The Gun Club,
Amon Düül,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Kenny Larkin,
Al Stewart,
Unwound,
The Sound,
Wasted Youth,
The J.B.'s,
Rufus Thomas,
Pere Ubu,
Harmonia,
The Busters,
The Litter,
The Count Five,
Gang Gang Dance,
Malaria!,
The Martian,
The Searchers,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Gil Scott Heron,
Ten City,
Saccharine Trust,
Brand Nubian,
Yellowson,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Morten Harket,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Pantaleimon,
L. Decosne,
The Sonics,
Bauhaus,
Con Funk Shun,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Gories,
Swell Maps,
Moebius,
Tubeway Army,
Ultimate Spinach,
Boogie Down Productions,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Lakeside,
The Grass Roots,
Wally Richardson,
Bobby Byrd,
Black Pus,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Flesh Eaters,
Donny Hathaway,
Soft Machine,
The Wake,
The Toasters,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson.
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.