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 Sweden and from Stockholm.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Kinks to the jazz kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Desert Stars. All the underground hits.
All The Detroit Cobras tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Howard Jones record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Motorama record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispian St. Peters,
The Kinks,
Black Bananas,
Danielle Patucci,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Mission of Burma,
Gil Scott Heron,
Joey Negro,
Stiv Bators,
Hasil Adkins,
The Real Kids,
Public Enemy,
Minor Threat,
Ornette Coleman,
The Evens,
The Detroit Cobras,
Fluxion,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Quadrant,
Yazoo,
The Leaves,
Arab on Radar,
Slave,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Eve St. Jones,
The Slits,
Trumans Water,
The Alarm Clocks,
Erykah Badu,
Neu!,
Ituana,
Tom Boy,
Brass Construction,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Whodini,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Motorama,
The Gun Club,
The Cowsills,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
cv313,
Public Image Ltd.,
Clear Light,
Jeru the Damaja,
Country Teasers,
The Remains,
Barbara Tucker,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Dead Boys,
The Moody Blues,
Mark Hollis,
T.S.O.L.,
PIL,
Kevin Saunderson,
Essential Logic,
Idris Muhammad,
Swans,
Jandek,
Ajijia Myrayebe, Ajijia Myrayebe, Ajijia Myrayebe, Ajijia Myrayebe.
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.