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 Marshall Islands and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Knickerbockers to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Radio Birdman. All the underground hits.
All B.T. Express tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eli Mardock record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jacob Miller record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Icehouse,
The Busters,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Procol Harum,
Flamin' Groovies,
Avey Tare,
Eric Copeland,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Angry Samoans,
Sound Behaviour,
Adolescents,
Lindisfarne,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Rapeman,
The Techniques,
Sonny Sharrock,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Jacob Miller,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Selecter,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Massinfluence,
The Velvet Underground,
Kerrie Biddell,
Rites of Spring,
Sexual Harrassment,
Drexciya,
Negative Approach,
Sun City Girls,
Spoonie Gee,
Tres Demented,
Talk Talk,
Eden Ahbez,
The Seeds,
Alice Coltrane,
Johnny Clarke,
Sonic Youth,
Sugar Minott,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Monks,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Sixth Finger,
Minnie Riperton,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The J.B.'s,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Donald Byrd,
48th St. Collective,
June Days,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Quando Quango,
Khruangbin,
Mark Hollis,
Bill Near,
Nick Fraelich,
Monks,
Gastr Del Sol,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Brand Nubian,
Bobby Byrd, Bobby Byrd, Bobby Byrd, Bobby Byrd.
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.