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 Bangladesh and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 Cairo and Paris.
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 synthesizer 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 Eddi Front to the dance 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 Letta Mbulu. All the underground hits.
All Sexual Harrassment tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Flock of Seagulls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Boz Scaggs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eric B and Rakim,
Quando Quango,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Heaven 17,
Yaz,
Talk Talk,
World's Most,
The Vogues,
Slave,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
L. Decosne,
Boredoms,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
New Order,
The Fire Engines,
Depeche Mode,
Das Ding,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Babytalk,
Scrapy,
The Electric Prunes,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Gang Starr,
Lucky Dragons,
Boogie Down Productions,
Rufus Thomas,
The Cowsills,
The Motions,
The Tremeloes,
Amon Düül,
Cybotron,
Big Daddy Kane,
Bronski Beat,
Bluetip,
Qualms,
Eric Dolphy,
Aloha Tigers,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Divine Comedy,
Faust,
The Leaves,
Main Source,
Camberwell Now,
The Monks,
Chris Corsano,
Lalo Schifrin,
Robert Görl,
kango's stein massive,
The Raincoats,
Von Mondo,
Eddi Front,
Clear Light,
Mark Hollis,
The Fuzztones,
Dark Day,
Minor Threat,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Vainqueur,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Gong,
Piero Umiliani, Piero Umiliani, Piero Umiliani, Piero Umiliani.
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.