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 Mauritius and from Mumbai.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1976 at the first Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Tres Demented to the electroclash 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 Arcadia. All the underground hits.
All Patti Smith tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marcia Griffiths record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Television record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pylon,
Terrestrial Tones,
Wasted Youth,
The Barracudas,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Albert Ayler,
Fear,
Laurel Aitken,
Davy DMX,
David Bowie,
New York Dolls,
The Pretty Things,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Doors,
Lucky Dragons,
Sight & Sound,
Slave,
Los Fastidios,
Fluxion,
Little Man,
Nas,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Gang Starr,
The Saints,
Maleditus Sound,
Patti Smith,
Grey Daturas,
Juan Atkins,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Marmalade,
Radio Birdman,
Mission of Burma,
DJ Sneak,
Underground Resistance,
Jeff Lynne,
The Smiths,
Black Bananas,
Ultravox,
The Dave Clark Five,
Echospace,
Main Source,
Lindisfarne,
Kenny Larkin,
Parry Music,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Warsaw,
Severed Heads,
Dark Day,
The Smoke,
Idris Muhammad,
Maurizio,
Minny Pops,
Y Pants,
June Days,
EPMD,
Electric Prunes,
The Real Kids,
Monks,
Das Ding, Das Ding, Das Ding, Das Ding.
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.