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 Ivory Coast and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 mellotron 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 This Heat to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 The Royal Family And The Poor. All the underground hits.
All Moss Icon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Traffic Nightmare record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Animal Collective record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jeff Lynne,
Archie Shepp,
Juan Atkins,
The Offenders,
Derrick May,
Ludus,
Saccharine Trust,
Don Cherry,
Pussy Galore,
Depeche Mode,
Anthony Braxton,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Hashim,
Mars,
Electric Prunes,
The Fugs,
Mad Mike,
Agitation Free,
The Human League,
Accadde A,
Blancmange,
Young Marble Giants,
Junior Murvin,
Von Mondo,
The J.B.'s,
The Victims,
The Cowsills,
Harry Pussy,
Albert Ayler,
Robert Hood,
David McCallum,
Procol Harum,
Dennis Brown,
Subhumans,
Barbara Tucker,
Intrusion,
Crispian St. Peters,
Ohio Players,
Yazoo,
Vainqueur,
Terrestrial Tones,
Eurythmics,
the Slits,
The Knickerbockers,
Pere Ubu,
The Pretty Things,
Rites of Spring,
Laurel Aitken,
Inner City,
Popol Vuh,
Cameo,
Organ,
Heaven 17,
Lakeside,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Bush Tetras,
Boredoms,
Swans,
Silicon Teens,
World's Most,
Gang of Four,
kango's stein massive,
Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond.
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.