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 Croatia and from Edmonton.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Sonics to the punk 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 Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft. All the underground hits.
All The Tremeloes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Reuben Wilson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Stiv Bators record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
La Düsseldorf,
Graham Central Station,
Terrestrial Tones,
John Lydon,
Section 25,
Jacob Miller,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Urselle,
Scion,
Subhumans,
The Grass Roots,
X-102,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Gang of Four,
Fat Boys,
Reagan Youth,
the Soft Cell,
Tim Buckley,
Young Marble Giants,
the Fania All-Stars,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Rakim,
Morten Harket,
the Slits,
The Monochrome Set,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Buckinghams,
Make Up,
Surgeon,
Sällskapet,
Crispy Ambulance,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Bobby Hutcherson,
New York Dolls,
Wally Richardson,
The Fortunes,
8 Eyed Spy,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Real Kids,
The Invisible,
Prince Buster,
Whodini,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Roxy Music,
The Motions,
T.S.O.L.,
Dorothy Ashby,
Lebanon Hanover,
Fad Gadget,
Los Fastidios,
Lightning Bolt,
The Red Krayola,
Erasure,
Arthur Verocai,
David Bowie,
CMW,
Lalo Schifrin,
Gastr Del Sol,
Bluetip,
Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu, Pere Ubu.
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.