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 Costa Rica and from Philadelphia.
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 1960 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the güiro 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 The Sisters of Mercy 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 Royal Trux. All the underground hits.
All Cheater Slicks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Man Eating Sloth 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Don Cherry record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
Second Layer,
Barry Ungar,
The Sonics,
Hardrive,
Wally Richardson,
The Pretty Things,
Juan Atkins,
Girls At Our Best!,
Kerrie Biddell,
Yellowson,
Rapeman,
Man Eating Sloth,
Agitation Free,
Fugazi,
Marcia Griffiths,
Khruangbin,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Circle Jerks,
Derrick May,
X-Ray Spex,
The Mummies,
The Wake,
Schoolly D,
The Moody Blues,
Kas Product,
The Stooges,
Jandek,
Half Japanese,
Camouflage,
Ralphi Rosario,
Glenn Branca,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Roger Hodgson,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Albert Ayler,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Gichy Dan,
ABBA,
Terry Callier,
B.T. Express,
The Monks,
Traffic Nightmare,
Bang On A Can,
Silicon Teens,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
John Coltrane,
Blancmange,
Matthew Bourne,
Suicide,
Tomorrow,
Aaron Thompson,
Robert Görl,
Animal Collective,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Ken Boothe,
Public Image Ltd.,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Angry Samoans,
Tim Buckley, Tim Buckley, Tim Buckley, Tim Buckley.
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.