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 Sierra Leone and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 güiro 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 DNA to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Slackers. All the underground hits.
All Laurel Aitken tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sonny Sharrock 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Symarip record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crispy Ambulance,
PIL,
Henry Cow,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Lower 48,
The Slackers,
Jeff Lynne,
The Beau Brummels,
Harry Pussy,
China Crisis,
Smog,
David Axelrod,
Sixth Finger,
The Slits,
The Smiths,
John Holt,
Freddie Wadling,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Crime,
John Cale,
Eddi Front,
CMW,
Shuggie Otis,
The Fall,
Ultra Naté,
Sexual Harrassment,
Rapeman,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Main Source,
Jandek,
ABC,
Chrome,
Bill Near,
Anakelly,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Bobby Hutcherson,
June Days,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
cv313,
The Last Poets,
Cameo,
Eric B and Rakim,
Skriet,
Bang On A Can,
Cheater Slicks,
MC5,
Sun Ra,
Barry Ungar,
Drive Like Jehu,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Clear Light,
Masters at Work,
Kenny Larkin,
The Young Rascals,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Ten City,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Eric Dolphy,
Wings, Wings, Wings, Wings.
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.