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 Algeria and from Lyon.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the marimba 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 Iggy Pop to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 June Days. All the underground hits.
All Aural Exciters tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Los Fastidios record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a ABBA record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
UT,
Robert Hood,
Scratch Acid,
Crispian St. Peters,
World's Most,
Oblivians,
The Neon Judgement,
Sixth Finger,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Fatback Band,
X-101,
Infiniti,
Quantec,
The Martian,
Arcadia,
The Moleskins,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Lee Hazlewood,
Roxy Music,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Remains,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Subhumans,
The Victims,
Severed Heads,
Avey Tare,
Scott Walker,
The Gories,
Jawbox,
The Black Dice,
The Wake,
Alice Coltrane,
Alphaville,
Bobby Byrd,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Althea and Donna,
Gang of Four,
Dark Day,
the Human League,
Thee Headcoats,
Dorothy Ashby,
Deepchord,
Essential Logic,
Black Flag,
The Searchers,
Boredoms,
Whodini,
In Retrospect,
The Gun Club,
Throbbing Gristle,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Prince Buster,
Gong,
Cymande,
Ohio Players,
Bobby Womack,
Grauzone,
Roxette,
Talk Talk, Talk Talk, Talk Talk, Talk Talk.
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.