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 Bhutan and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 chamberlin 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 Babytalk to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Arcadia. All the underground hits.
All Byron Stingily tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every U.S. Maple 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Steve Hackett record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sun City Girls,
Derrick May,
Sonny Sharrock,
Amon Düül II,
Ponytail,
Rapeman,
Joy Division,
Bronski Beat,
Stereo Dub,
The Alarm Clocks,
Drexciya,
Fugazi,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Hashim,
Skarface,
The Young Rascals,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Icehouse,
Magazine,
Marshall Jefferson,
John Coltrane,
Vainqueur,
The Motions,
Tropical Tobacco,
Arab on Radar,
Tom Boy,
Neu!,
Kerrie Biddell,
Boogie Down Productions,
Skriet,
Deepchord,
Lakeside,
Gastr Del Sol,
Dual Sessions,
Albert Ayler,
Iggy Pop,
The Invisible,
Symarip,
Mantronix,
Circle Jerks,
The Angels of Light,
U.S. Maple,
The Litter,
Surgeon,
Yusef Lateef,
Lou Christie,
Ituana,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Modern Lovers,
June Days,
Davy DMX,
Bill Near,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Barracudas,
Aural Exciters,
The Cowsills,
Schoolly D,
Black Pus,
Sandy B,
David Axelrod,
Al Stewart, Al Stewart, Al Stewart, Al Stewart.
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.