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 Tajikistan and from Paris.
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 1963 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Severed Heads to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Rahsaan Roland Kirk. All the underground hits.
All Soft Cell tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lalo Schifrin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Boogie Down Productions record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
Derrick May,
Bill Near,
Sunsets and Hearts,
AZ,
48th St. Collective,
E-Dancer,
Kerrie Biddell,
Moby Grape,
Deadbeat,
Dual Sessions,
The Monks,
Q65,
Bluetip,
Aloha Tigers,
Stiv Bators,
The Red Krayola,
Jeru the Damaja,
Nas,
Stetsasonic,
Sällskapet,
Terrestrial Tones,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Main Source,
Das Ding,
Circle Jerks,
Animal Collective,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Dead C,
Marc Almond,
Thompson Twins,
Country Teasers,
Lou Christie,
Joe Finger,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Swans,
The Move,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
London Community Gospel Choir,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Thee Headcoats,
Whodini,
Glambeats Corp.,
Letta Mbulu,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Hoover,
Kas Product,
Kerri Chandler,
The Pretty Things,
Byron Stingily,
Alice Coltrane,
Lou Reed,
Althea and Donna,
Theoretical Girls,
The Flesh Eaters,
Amon Düül,
David Axelrod,
Basic Channel,
Ituana,
Con Funk Shun,
Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics, Amazonics.
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.