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 Lebanon and from Sao Paulo.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Mary Jane Girls. All the underground hits.
All Au Pairs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Au Pairs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Moss Icon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Index,
Pussy Galore,
The Moleskins,
the Association,
U.S. Maple,
Japan,
Country Teasers,
Kenny Larkin,
Franke,
The Techniques,
Unrelated Segments,
K-Klass,
Nik Kershaw,
Duran Duran,
Roxette,
Swell Maps,
Marvin Gaye,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Flesh Eaters,
Mr. Review,
the Human League,
The Moody Blues,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Black Pus,
Cluster,
Crooked Eye,
Archie Shepp,
Buzzcocks,
Fat Boys,
Reuben Wilson,
The Cure,
Goldenarms,
Talk Talk,
The Mummies,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Jacques Brel,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Vogues,
Echospace,
Ken Boothe,
The Alarm Clocks,
T.S.O.L.,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
X-Ray Spex,
Jandek,
Procol Harum,
Kayak,
Aloha Tigers,
The Dirtbombs,
Soulsonic Force,
Eve St. Jones,
Funkadelic,
Visage,
David Bowie,
Nils Olav,
Magma,
T. Rex,
The Tremeloes,
The Real Kids,
Wolf Eyes,
These Immortal Souls,
The Shadows of Knight,
Grey Daturas,
Cymande, Cymande, Cymande, Cymande.
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.