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 Iceland and from New York.
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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Section 25 to the techno kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Sly & The Family Stone. All the underground hits.
All Bronski Beat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Reagan Youth record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Doors record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Black Dice,
Eden Ahbez,
The Red Krayola,
DJ Style,
Oblivians,
the Human League,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Flamin' Groovies,
Delon & Dalcan,
Panda Bear,
The Flesh Eaters,
Terrestrial Tones,
Bang On A Can,
The Wake,
Cal Tjader,
Bill Near,
The United States of America,
D'Angelo,
Sällskapet,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Popol Vuh,
Deepchord,
Rosa Yemen,
Mantronix,
the Slits,
Organ,
Tim Buckley,
Crispian St. Peters,
Darondo,
Bizarre Inc.,
Banda Bassotti,
Mr. Review,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Graham Central Station,
Glenn Branca,
Curtis Mayfield,
Fear,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Five Americans,
The Mojo Men,
Bluetip,
Sex Pistols,
Bootsy Collins,
Excepter,
Quantec,
Joe Finger,
ABBA,
Kaleidoscope,
the Swans,
Saccharine Trust,
Sixth Finger,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Joensuu 1685,
The Gories,
Scion,
Prince Buster,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Moss Icon,
Nick Fraelich,
Gang Starr, Gang Starr, Gang Starr, Gang Starr.
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.