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 Bulgaria and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 spring reverb 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 Bobby Hutcherson to the punk 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All The Music Machine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Television record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 theremin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The J.B.'s record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fear,
Deakin,
Nirvana,
Matthew Halsall,
Sight & Sound,
Iggy Pop,
Bronski Beat,
David Axelrod,
The Mojo Men,
Bauhaus,
Bobby Womack,
Kevin Saunderson,
Easy Going,
Liliput,
Sonny Sharrock,
Adolescents,
Scratch Acid,
Leonard Cohen,
the Slits,
Kayak,
Lyres,
Tropical Tobacco,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Shuggie Otis,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Zapp,
Fat Boys,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Derrick May,
Agent Orange,
The Golliwogs,
Roy Ayers,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Last Poets,
Sun Ra,
Fad Gadget,
the Soft Cell,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Throbbing Gristle,
Smog,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Blancmange,
Swell Maps,
Skarface,
Babytalk,
Avey Tare,
The Mummies,
Can,
Boz Scaggs,
Eden Ahbez,
Animal Collective,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Stetsasonic,
ABC,
Radiopuhelimet,
Symarip,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Howard Jones,
Monks, Monks, Monks, Monks.
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.