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 Guinea-Bissau and from Seoul.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 The Residents to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Soulsonic Force. All the underground hits.
All T.S.O.L. tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Section 25 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Roy Ayers Ubiquity record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gerry Rafferty,
Fear,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Sandy B,
the Swans,
Tropical Tobacco,
Ice-T,
Eden Ahbez,
UT,
Crime,
Bootsy Collins,
Bauhaus,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Porter Ricks,
Gang Starr,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Subhumans,
EPMD,
Negative Approach,
Matthew Bourne,
The Birthday Party,
Danielle Patucci,
Cal Tjader,
Pole,
Icehouse,
The Residents,
Boogie Down Productions,
the Slits,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Talk Talk,
June of 44,
Newcleus,
Livin' Joy,
Hoover,
The Evens,
ABC,
Connie Case,
Main Source,
Johnny Clarke,
Sugar Minott,
The Grass Roots,
Cluster,
Pagans,
Pierre Henry,
Deadbeat,
David Axelrod,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
U.S. Maple,
Juan Atkins,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Anthony Braxton,
The Star Department,
Davy DMX,
Dead Boys,
The Zeros,
Cybotron,
Dennis Brown,
The Skatalites,
Alice Coltrane,
Index,
The Buckinghams,
Marshall Jefferson, Marshall Jefferson, Marshall Jefferson, Marshall Jefferson.
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.