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 Bangladesh and from Copenhagen.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Q65 to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Jawbox. All the underground hits.
All The Shadows of Knight tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Slave 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks 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?
A Flock of Seagulls,
Joey Negro,
Mission of Burma,
Sex Pistols,
the Soft Cell,
Big Daddy Kane,
Goldenarms,
Swell Maps,
Idris Muhammad,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Eden Ahbez,
Black Flag,
Ronnie Foster,
Colin Newman,
Newcleus,
Ultimate Spinach,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Quantec,
Connie Case,
Rod Modell,
Prince Buster,
T.S.O.L.,
Arthur Verocai,
Skriet,
The Moody Blues,
Royal Trux,
Letta Mbulu,
Moby Grape,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Mojo Men,
Lee Hazlewood,
Arcadia,
China Crisis,
The Moleskins,
Robert Görl,
Traffic Nightmare,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Charles Mingus,
Brothers Johnson,
The Techniques,
Crime,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Hot Snakes,
Echospace,
Fela Kuti,
The Offenders,
The Gun Club,
Schoolly D,
cv313,
In Retrospect,
Wire,
Hoover,
Gang Gang Dance,
MC5,
Sun Ra,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Mary Jane Girls,
B.T. Express,
Stiv Bators,
June Days,
Man Eating Sloth,
H. Thieme,
Ten City, Ten City, Ten City, Ten City.
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.