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 Benin and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Suicide to the techno 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 Dorothy Ashby. All the underground hits.
All The Pretty Things tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Brick 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Radio Birdman record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba 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 Victims,
The Velvet Underground,
Black Pus,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Con Funk Shun,
The United States of America,
Tomorrow,
The Move,
Bill Near,
Nirvana,
ABBA,
Harry Pussy,
Aloha Tigers,
The American Breed,
The Names,
Kerrie Biddell,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Monochrome Set,
The Evens,
Tim Buckley,
Henry Cow,
Ultimate Spinach,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Saints,
New Order,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Rosa Yemen,
T.S.O.L.,
Infiniti,
Fugazi,
Heaven 17,
Model 500,
Wire,
Mo-Dettes,
Procol Harum,
Niagra,
PIL,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Offenders,
Marshall Jefferson,
JFA,
Sparks,
Bush Tetras,
KRS-One,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Marc Almond,
Dennis Brown,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Grandmaster Flash,
Electric Prunes,
The Slits,
Minny Pops,
Graham Central Station,
Anthony Braxton,
Susan Cadogan,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
the Germs,
Nick Fraelich,
Donald Byrd,
Black Flag,
E-Dancer,
Brick, Brick, Brick, Brick.
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.