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 Latvia and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1960 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Andrew Hill to the grunge kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Radiohead. All the underground hits.
All Althea and Donna tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cabaret Voltaire 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tres Demented record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Angry Samoans,
Dead Boys,
Scan 7,
The Fugs,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Blossom Toes,
Jacques Brel,
The Techniques,
The Detroit Cobras,
Moebius,
Zapp,
The Durutti Column,
Eric Dolphy,
Sonny Sharrock,
Susan Cadogan,
Bauhaus,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Ohio Players,
Albert Ayler,
Hardrive,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Clear Light,
Groovy Waters,
Gastr Del Sol,
Wasted Youth,
Crispian St. Peters,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Avey Tare,
The Cowsills,
Dave Gahan,
The Victims,
Roxy Music,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Gories,
Hot Snakes,
Blake Baxter,
Sparks,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Seeds,
Todd Terry,
Todd Rundgren,
The Fire Engines,
Country Teasers,
Davy DMX,
Piero Umiliani,
Anthony Braxton,
E-Dancer,
L. Decosne,
Fugazi,
Desert Stars,
Ponytail,
John Coltrane,
Livin' Joy,
Faraquet,
Tim Buckley,
Eric B and Rakim,
Crispy Ambulance,
China Crisis,
Funkadelic,
World's Most, World's Most, World's Most, World's Most.
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.