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 Kiribati and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 T. Rex to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Erykah Badu. All the underground hits.
All Kurtis Blow tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Peanut Butter Conspiracy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ 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?
Carl Craig,
Gerry Rafferty,
Franke,
Rapeman,
Robert Wyatt,
Glambeats Corp.,
James White and The Blacks,
The Standells,
Pagans,
Bill Wells,
The Litter,
Malaria!,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Neon Judgement,
the Fania All-Stars,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Tremeloes,
Stiv Bators,
KRS-One,
Cybotron,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Faust,
Sun Ra,
Black Bananas,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Model 500,
Boredoms,
The Dave Clark Five,
Lightning Bolt,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Bobby Sherman,
The Monochrome Set,
The Names,
The Count Five,
Stetsasonic,
Dead Boys,
Curtis Mayfield,
John Lydon,
Nas,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Metal Thangz,
Absolute Body Control,
the Sonics,
The Dirtbombs,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Dual Sessions,
Joensuu 1685,
The Gladiators,
Popol Vuh,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Five Americans,
Howard Jones,
Maleditus Sound,
Fluxion,
Agitation Free,
Pharoah Sanders,
Radiopuhelimet,
Tom Boy,
the Normal,
Roxy Music,
Cal Tjader,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux, Lizzy Mercier Descloux, Lizzy Mercier Descloux, Lizzy Mercier Descloux.
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.