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 Hungary and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 clarinet 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 Duran Duran to the disco kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 These Immortal Souls. All the underground hits.
All Minny Pops tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The American Breed record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Liaisons Dangereuses record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Angels of Light,
Skriet,
Alice Coltrane,
Roy Ayers,
Suburban Knight,
Bronski Beat,
Radio Birdman,
The Dead C,
Frankie Knuckles,
New Order,
Massinfluence,
Bad Manners,
Leonard Cohen,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Sugar Minott,
Outsiders,
The Happenings,
Jacob Miller,
the Slits,
Black Pus,
The Modern Lovers,
The Techniques,
The Stooges,
Camberwell Now,
A Certain Ratio,
Tim Buckley,
The Saints,
Marcia Griffiths,
Wire,
D'Angelo,
John Holt,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
E-Dancer,
Hot Snakes,
The Star Department,
Harpers Bizarre,
Nirvana,
Funkadelic,
Fear,
Television Personalities,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Crispian St. Peters,
Mantronix,
Rakim,
The Last Poets,
Pussy Galore,
The Knickerbockers,
Barrington Levy,
Rufus Thomas,
Robert Hood,
Scrapy,
Radiopuhelimet,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Juan Atkins,
Black Moon,
Deadbeat,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Minnie Riperton,
The American Breed,
Echospace,
Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish.
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.