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 Mozambique and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 808 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 Skaos to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Index. All the underground hits.
All Sixth Finger tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Can 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pussy Galore record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Althea and Donna,
Stereo Dub,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Pussy Galore,
Pantytec,
Rosa Yemen,
Connie Case,
The Neon Judgement,
The Residents,
Al Stewart,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
KRS-One,
Harmonia,
L. Decosne,
Tropical Tobacco,
Make Up,
Sex Pistols,
Black Pus,
Dorothy Ashby,
Zero Boys,
The Smiths,
The Walker Brothers,
Tommy Roe,
Jacob Miller,
T.S.O.L.,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Slackers,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Fad Gadget,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Vogues,
Pole,
Audionom,
The Black Dice,
Vainqueur,
Michelle Simonal,
Skaos,
Roy Ayers,
Yellowson,
Faust,
New Order,
The Offenders,
Cybotron,
The Fuzztones,
Loose Ends,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Panda Bear,
Ohio Players,
ABBA,
Lalann,
John Foxx,
Wasted Youth,
The Gun Club,
Quadrant,
Monks,
Scott Walker,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Red Krayola,
Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown.
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.