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 Swaziland and from Paris.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 Tom Verlaine 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 Robert Hood to the rock kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 June of 44. All the underground hits.
All Marvin Gaye tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Newcleus record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Carl Craig record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Marc Almond,
Inner City,
Scion,
The Slackers,
Aaron Thompson,
Bobby Womack,
Jerry's Kids,
Cecil Taylor,
Fad Gadget,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Guru Guru,
The Smoke,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Scrapy,
Minor Threat,
Sandy B,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Archie Shepp,
The Names,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Gong,
New Age Steppers,
MDC,
Lee Hazlewood,
Silicon Teens,
Buzzcocks,
Parry Music,
Public Enemy,
Bobby Sherman,
Crispy Ambulance,
Rotary Connection,
John Holt,
the Soft Cell,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Television Personalities,
Barrington Levy,
The Techniques,
Dennis Brown,
The Cowsills,
Amazonics,
Ossler,
Max Romeo,
Cymande,
Pantytec,
Agent Orange,
F. McDonald,
The Alarm Clocks,
Donny Hathaway,
Faraquet,
The Dirtbombs,
The Zeros,
Basic Channel,
Nirvana,
Boz Scaggs,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Tomorrow,
Barry Ungar,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Brand Nubian,
Jacob Miller,
Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler.
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.