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 Bahrain and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 Michael McDonald 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 Music Machine to the rap 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 Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. All the underground hits.
All ABC tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Stetsasonic 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 guitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Velvet Underground record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scrapy,
Suburban Knight,
Morten Harket,
Terry Callier,
The Slackers,
Royal Trux,
The Gladiators,
Sparks,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Doobie Brothers,
Patti Smith,
John Lydon,
Index,
Ultra Naté,
Pylon,
Audionom,
Rakim,
Ultravox,
Swans,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
the Swans,
Massinfluence,
Whodini,
Harmonia,
Kas Product,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Last Poets,
Spoonie Gee,
Rites of Spring,
Aaron Thompson,
Bobby Sherman,
Pagans,
Derrick May,
Bill Wells,
Ornette Coleman,
Inner City,
Angry Samoans,
Deepchord,
Arab on Radar,
Lightning Bolt,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Young Rascals,
Lower 48,
The Monks,
Hasil Adkins,
Ponytail,
Absolute Body Control,
Unwound,
Faraquet,
Lebanon Hanover,
John Foxx,
Fluxion,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Outsiders,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Bobby Womack,
Sam Rivers,
Roger Hodgson,
The Star Department,
Sun Ra,
Moebius, Moebius, Moebius, Moebius.
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.