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 Lesotho and from Manila.
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 1968 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Bologna.
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 organ 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 The Tremeloes to the grunge kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Flesh Eaters. All the underground hits.
All Black Moon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Peanut Butter Conspiracy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Derrick Morgan record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Aloha Tigers,
Lightning Bolt,
Moss Icon,
The Selecter,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Blancmange,
Marcia Griffiths,
Scan 7,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Jacques Brel,
R.M.O.,
Crispy Ambulance,
Rufus Thomas,
Rites of Spring,
Average White Band,
Siglo XX,
Blossom Toes,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Judy Mowatt,
Rekid,
Crash Course in Science,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Real Kids,
Cameo,
Crooked Eye,
Cheater Slicks,
FM Einheit,
the Human League,
Zapp,
Roxette,
Jerry's Kids,
Accadde A,
Eurythmics,
Toni Rubio,
Blake Baxter,
Ronnie Foster,
Lyres,
The Star Department,
June Days,
Harpers Bizarre,
Infiniti,
This Heat,
Bill Wells,
The Blackbyrds,
Jeru the Damaja,
Liliput,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Main Source,
Bill Near,
Underground Resistance,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Robert Wyatt,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Drexciya,
Boredoms,
Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses.
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.