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 Nepal and from Jakarta.
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 1966 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 Feelies practice in a loft in Haledon.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch to the crunk kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Pierre Henry. All the underground hits.
All DJ Sneak tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Standells record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 theremin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Arcadia,
Marvin Gaye,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Litter,
Bush Tetras,
Althea and Donna,
Von Mondo,
Stiv Bators,
Ultimate Spinach,
Lyres,
The Angels of Light,
Thee Headcoats,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Franke,
Inner City,
AZ,
Eve St. Jones,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Skaos,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Bronski Beat,
Man Parrish,
Sällskapet,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Leaves,
Danielle Patucci,
The Names,
Q65,
Kayak,
Bob Dylan,
Depeche Mode,
Das Ding,
Skriet,
Fela Kuti,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Ralphi Rosario,
Graham Central Station,
Lower 48,
Alton Ellis,
Dennis Brown,
Simply Red,
Ponytail,
Hardrive,
Niagra,
These Immortal Souls,
Absolute Body Control,
Sex Pistols,
Gabor Szabo,
The Golliwogs,
The Gap Band,
Scion,
The Smiths,
Lindisfarne,
Piero Umiliani,
Gang Gang Dance,
Severed Heads,
Big Daddy Kane,
Ten City,
Don Cherry,
John Foxx,
Neil Young,
The Toasters, The Toasters, The Toasters, The Toasters.
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.