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 Trinidad & Tobago and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1967 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 Donald Fagen 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 June of 44 to the punk 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 The Walker Brothers. All the underground hits.
All Brand Nubian tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Walker Brothers 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Sonics 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?
Saccharine Trust,
Ice-T,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Essential Logic,
Excepter,
Godley & Creme,
Sugar Minott,
Moebius,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Seeds,
Fluxion,
Joensuu 1685,
Glenn Branca,
X-101,
X-Ray Spex,
Dennis Brown,
Wasted Youth,
Jacques Brel,
Henry Cow,
The Angels of Light,
Scientists,
The Misunderstood,
Pylon,
Monolake,
Marine Girls,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Robert Hood,
The Gun Club,
Arcadia,
Jerry's Kids,
Adolescents,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Spandau Ballet,
Avey Tare,
Subhumans,
Dead Boys,
Ken Boothe,
Mr. Review,
The Names,
Matthew Bourne,
Grandmaster Flash,
Frankie Knuckles,
Kurtis Blow,
Maurizio,
World's Most,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Warren Ellis,
Spoonie Gee,
The Pretty Things,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Stetsasonic,
The Golliwogs,
U.S. Maple,
Siglo XX,
Echospace,
Television,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Funkadelic,
Mission of Burma,
Pierre Henry, Pierre Henry, Pierre Henry, Pierre Henry.
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.