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 Tonga and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Gang Gang Dance to the crunk 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 Joe Smooth. All the underground hits.
All John Foxx tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kerri Chandler record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 clarinet and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Residents record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Radiohead,
The Star Department,
Funky Four + One,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Infiniti,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Con Funk Shun,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Buzzcocks,
Kevin Saunderson,
The Zeros,
H. Thieme,
This Heat,
Main Source,
Grandmaster Flash,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Alton Ellis,
Magazine,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Fear,
Wings,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Alison Limerick,
Dawn Penn,
Q and Not U,
Malaria!,
Flamin' Groovies,
Sexual Harrassment,
E-Dancer,
Pole,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Arab on Radar,
Eric Copeland,
Throbbing Gristle,
Rites of Spring,
Zero Boys,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Althea and Donna,
R.M.O.,
Hoover,
Dorothy Ashby,
Nation of Ulysses,
Intrusion,
Scratch Acid,
The Black Dice,
Gang of Four,
The Young Rascals,
Quadrant,
Bobby Womack,
Ten City,
New York Dolls,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Royal Trux,
Kool Moe Dee,
Byron Stingily,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Boz Scaggs,
ABC,
Kurtis Blow,
John Cale,
Harry Pussy,
Procol Harum, Procol Harum, Procol Harum, Procol Harum.
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.