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 Nigeria and from Manchester.
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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Iggy Pop to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Animal Collective. All the underground hits.
All Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Names record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Detroit Cobras record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Malaria!,
The Fugs,
Masters at Work,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Eddi Front,
R.M.O.,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Banda Bassotti,
the Sonics,
Los Fastidios,
Harry Pussy,
Mr. Review,
The Buckinghams,
Janne Schatter,
X-101,
Warsaw,
The Cramps,
Dual Sessions,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Star Department,
Country Teasers,
Donald Byrd,
Ponytail,
Scan 7,
The Gladiators,
Kaleidoscope,
Man Parrish,
Qualms,
The Doobie Brothers,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Bluetip,
Laurel Aitken,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Metal Thangz,
Barbara Tucker,
The Mojo Men,
Bauhaus,
Zero Boys,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Black Pus,
The Modern Lovers,
Patti Smith,
Japan,
Shoche,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Flash Fearless,
The Neon Judgement,
Crispian St. Peters,
Pere Ubu,
Bang On A Can,
June Days,
Yaz,
Tres Demented,
Gabor Szabo,
E-Dancer,
World's Most,
Mark Hollis,
Donny Hathaway,
Iggy Pop,
James White and The Blacks,
Symarip,
Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins, Hasil Adkins.
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.