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 Congo and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Tehran.
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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the mellotron 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 The Leaves 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 Be Bop Deluxe. All the underground hits.
All The United States of America tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Funkadelic 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a linndrum.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Spandau Ballet,
Derrick May,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Freddie Wadling,
Eddi Front,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Shuggie Otis,
CMW,
The United States of America,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Andrew Hill,
The Sound,
Max Romeo,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Goldenarms,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Parry Music,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Rakim,
The Cramps,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Quantec,
X-102,
Chris Corsano,
Rufus Thomas,
Patti Smith,
Ash Ra Tempel,
June Days,
Blake Baxter,
Carl Craig,
Gong,
Ronnie Foster,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Kinks,
Niagra,
Yazoo,
Siglo XX,
James White and The Blacks,
Fugazi,
Arcadia,
Henry Cow,
The Move,
Girls At Our Best!,
Silicon Teens,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Byron Stingily,
The Skatalites,
The Divine Comedy,
Scion,
Simply Red,
Country Teasers,
Mr. Review,
Altered Images,
Anthony Braxton,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Kurtis Blow,
Charles Mingus,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Residents,
The Doors,
Khruangbin,
Ponytail, Ponytail, Ponytail, Ponytail.
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.