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 St Lucia and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 Milan and Taipei.
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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Rhythim Is Rhythim to the funk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Funkadelic. All the underground hits.
All Marine Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arthur Verocai record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 a harpsichord and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Symarip record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Golliwogs,
Siglo XX,
Dead Boys,
Gichy Dan,
Suburban Knight,
The Fortunes,
Howard Jones,
Agent Orange,
Mad Mike,
The Standells,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Basic Channel,
Jeru the Damaja,
Man Parrish,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Model 500,
The Leaves,
Tim Buckley,
Eli Mardock,
Kayak,
H. Thieme,
the Germs,
Mark Hollis,
The Five Americans,
Wolf Eyes,
The Dave Clark Five,
X-101,
Bobby Sherman,
Faust,
John Cale,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Charles Mingus,
Symarip,
New Age Steppers,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Joey Negro,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Accadde A,
Barbara Tucker,
The Fuzztones,
Ice-T,
The Evens,
Junior Murvin,
Smog,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Royal Trux,
The Pop Group,
Byron Stingily,
Mission of Burma,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Electric Prunes,
Johnny Osbourne,
Rufus Thomas,
DJ Style,
F. McDonald,
Grandmaster Flash,
Fad Gadget,
the Sonics,
Kurtis Blow,
Sam Rivers,
The Tremeloes, The Tremeloes, The Tremeloes, The Tremeloes.
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.