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 Brunei and from Mumbai.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the 808 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 Sarah Menescal to the rap 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 Big Daddy Kane. All the underground hits.
All Rites of Spring tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Silicon Teens record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Bar-Kays record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Selecter,
Ludus,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Lindisfarne,
Scott Walker,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
U.S. Maple,
Bush Tetras,
Sarah Menescal,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Swell Maps,
Sun City Girls,
Stiv Bators,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Al Stewart,
Matthew Bourne,
Popol Vuh,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Walker Brothers,
Slick Rick,
David McCallum,
Soulsonic Force,
Thee Headcoats,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Todd Terry,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Trojans,
Nation of Ulysses,
Reagan Youth,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The New Christs,
The Blues Magoos,
The Zeros,
Michelle Simonal,
Reuben Wilson,
The Slits,
X-101,
Moby Grape,
This Heat,
Angry Samoans,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Soft Cell,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Q and Not U,
Parry Music,
Accadde A,
Mantronix,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Archie Shepp,
the Slits,
John Cale,
the Germs,
The Mojo Men,
Tropical Tobacco,
Ituana,
B.T. Express,
Soft Machine,
John Lydon,
Morten Harket,
Derrick May,
John Holt, John Holt, John Holt, John Holt.
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.