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 Lithuania and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Kevin Saunderson to the techno kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Manfred Mann's Earth Band. All the underground hits.
All Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Derrick May 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dead Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Smog,
Los Fastidios,
Ponytail,
Ultra Naté,
Clear Light,
Sex Pistols,
Agitation Free,
The Zeros,
Con Funk Shun,
Chris & Cosey,
The Five Americans,
Deakin,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Flesh Eaters,
EPMD,
The Vogues,
Graham Central Station,
Wire,
Bill Wells,
Average White Band,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Alison Limerick,
Radio Birdman,
Monolake,
Lower 48,
The Fuzztones,
Das Ding,
John Cale,
Rekid,
Circle Jerks,
Eric Copeland,
Judy Mowatt,
Roy Ayers,
Harry Pussy,
Camberwell Now,
Barbara Tucker,
Brick,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Young Marble Giants,
Gang Starr,
AZ,
Dennis Brown,
Matthew Bourne,
The Moleskins,
Yaz,
Tres Demented,
Andrew Hill,
Mary Jane Girls,
Subhumans,
Whodini,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Marcia Griffiths,
World's Most,
Wings,
Buzzcocks,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Man Eating Sloth,
Amazonics,
Rotary Connection,
the Human League,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
John Coltrane,
The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators.
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.