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 Romania and from Copenhagen.
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 1968 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Alice Coltrane to the techno 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 Country Teasers. All the underground hits.
All Suburban Knight tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Matthew Bourne record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Monolake record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Maleditus Sound,
Gil Scott Heron,
Surgeon,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
ABBA,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
The Remains,
Joey Negro,
The Dead C,
The Last Poets,
Jawbox,
Rufus Thomas,
Whodini,
Television,
Anthony Braxton,
Robert Hood,
The Walker Brothers,
Country Teasers,
The Five Americans,
The Trojans,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Joe Smooth,
Bootsy Collins,
Alison Limerick,
Robert Wyatt,
Unwound,
Ultra Naté,
Jesper Dahlback,
Marcia Griffiths,
Wasted Youth,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Terrestrial Tones,
Lower 48,
Tres Demented,
Deadbeat,
Blancmange,
Jerry's Kids,
The Divine Comedy,
Yazoo,
Fat Boys,
Flash Fearless,
Model 500,
Patti Smith,
Masters at Work,
Audionom,
Severed Heads,
Interpol,
Scientists,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
These Immortal Souls,
Donny Hathaway,
The Detroit Cobras,
Black Flag,
The Slackers,
Darondo,
Byron Stingily,
Albert Ayler,
Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat, Bronski Beat.
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.