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 Mauritius and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Feelies show in Haledon.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 rhodes 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 Sandy B to the funk 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 The Vogues. All the underground hits.
All Pharoah Sanders tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Robert Görl record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
John Foxx,
Ossler,
Trumans Water,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Marcia Griffiths,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Procol Harum,
Gang Starr,
Kool Moe Dee,
Brick,
Nirvana,
Tres Demented,
Glambeats Corp.,
Harry Pussy,
The Saints,
The Durutti Column,
Juan Atkins,
UT,
Sun City Girls,
Japan,
DJ Sneak,
Piero Umiliani,
Mandrill,
The Monks,
Howard Jones,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Mo-Dettes,
Eric Copeland,
Man Eating Sloth,
Moby Grape,
Funkadelic,
the Association,
Banda Bassotti,
Symarip,
E-Dancer,
Slave,
Can,
The Cramps,
Ralphi Rosario,
Cheater Slicks,
T.S.O.L.,
Albert Ayler,
Nico,
Lee Hazlewood,
Marmalade,
Idris Muhammad,
The Buckinghams,
La Düsseldorf,
Blossom Toes,
Electric Prunes,
Blake Baxter,
Gabor Szabo,
Second Layer,
Aloha Tigers,
Y Pants,
AZ,
Archie Shepp,
Niagra,
Liliput,
Nils Olav,
The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos.
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.