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 Sierra Leone and from Portland.
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 1964 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Mr. Review to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 ABBA. All the underground hits.
All The Saints tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every CMW record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cal Tjader record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Oneida,
Byron Stingily,
Boredoms,
Popol Vuh,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Fugs,
Tres Demented,
The Cure,
Eric B and Rakim,
June Days,
Newcleus,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Bobby Sherman,
Ice-T,
Marvin Gaye,
Eddi Front,
Electric Prunes,
The Black Dice,
Minny Pops,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Terry Callier,
Flipper,
Niagra,
The Cramps,
Rufus Thomas,
Pantaleimon,
James White and The Blacks,
Avey Tare,
The Skatalites,
Hardrive,
F. McDonald,
Banda Bassotti,
The Evens,
Cal Tjader,
The Vogues,
Pagans,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Soft Machine,
Isaac Hayes,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Leaves,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The United States of America,
Fela Kuti,
The Move,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Sex Pistols,
Brand Nubian,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
FM Einheit,
The Dead C,
the Swans,
Letta Mbulu,
Matthew Bourne,
Monks,
Rhythm & Sound,
Rekid,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Barrington Levy,
The Fire Engines, The Fire Engines, The Fire Engines, The Fire Engines.
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.