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 Peru and from Lagos.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Steve Hackett to the disco kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog. All the underground hits.
All The Gun Club tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crime 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Absolute Body Control record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lebanon Hanover,
Aaron Thompson,
Tres Demented,
Traffic Nightmare,
Junior Murvin,
Hot Snakes,
Eric B and Rakim,
Soft Cell,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Martian,
MDC,
Eli Mardock,
Cheater Slicks,
Television Personalities,
Ohio Players,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Banda Bassotti,
Letta Mbulu,
Idris Muhammad,
Blancmange,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Brothers Johnson,
Pylon,
Sixth Finger,
Toni Rubio,
Sarah Menescal,
New York Dolls,
The Red Krayola,
Gong,
Tomorrow,
T. Rex,
PIL,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Rufus Thomas,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Bluetip,
The Monks,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Scion,
The Beau Brummels,
Gastr Del Sol,
U.S. Maple,
the Sonics,
F. McDonald,
H. Thieme,
Electric Prunes,
Oneida,
Rapeman,
Motorama,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Magazine,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Index,
the Association,
Theoretical Girls,
Procol Harum,
The Music Machine,
Barry Ungar,
Tom Boy,
Royal Trux,
Can, Can, Can, Can.
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.