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 Equatorial Guinea and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 Robert Palmer 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 Sly & The Family Stone to the grime 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 Don Cherry. All the underground hits.
All Johnny Clarke tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Art Ensemble Of Chicago record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Joe Smooth record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jacques Brel,
John Foxx,
The American Breed,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Matthew Halsall,
Suicide,
X-101,
Kool Moe Dee,
Soft Cell,
Eddi Front,
Hasil Adkins,
Saccharine Trust,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Electric Prunes,
The Count Five,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Cowsills,
Stereo Dub,
Tommy Roe,
Surgeon,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Barclay James Harvest,
Dawn Penn,
Babytalk,
Loose Ends,
Magazine,
Hoover,
The Human League,
Crispian St. Peters,
Erasure,
David Bowie,
Beasts of Bourbon,
World's Most,
Thee Headcoats,
The Standells,
Fad Gadget,
James White and The Blacks,
Grey Daturas,
David McCallum,
Amazonics,
Rites of Spring,
The Remains,
Outsiders,
the Germs,
Kevin Saunderson,
Schoolly D,
Faraquet,
Camberwell Now,
Little Man,
Lalo Schifrin,
Camouflage,
E-Dancer,
John Coltrane,
Shoche,
Gang Green,
Derrick May,
Minnie Riperton,
The Motions,
Jeru the Damaja,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Ohio Players,
The Toasters, The Toasters, The Toasters, The Toasters.
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.