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 Lyon.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 New York Dolls to the crunk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Dead C. All the underground hits.
All Fort Wilson Riot tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Move record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 theremin and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terry Callier record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marc Almond,
Subhumans,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Dave Clark Five,
The Dirtbombs,
Brand Nubian,
Archie Shepp,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Jacques Brel,
Connie Case,
Johnny Clarke,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Boogie Down Productions,
Rakim,
Jimmy McGriff,
Organ,
The Gap Band,
Wasted Youth,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Motions,
Fela Kuti,
Livin' Joy,
Sound Behaviour,
The Monks,
Echospace,
Von Mondo,
Neu!,
The J.B.'s,
Funky Four + One,
The Angels of Light,
Graham Central Station,
Gang Gang Dance,
Pierre Henry,
Half Japanese,
Girls At Our Best!,
Lalo Schifrin,
Harry Pussy,
Adolescents,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Basic Channel,
Crime,
The Litter,
Simply Red,
Curtis Mayfield,
MDC,
Danielle Patucci,
Gang of Four,
Arcadia,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Blancmange,
Flamin' Groovies,
New Age Steppers,
Harmonia,
H. Thieme,
Ponytail,
The Techniques,
Pulsallama,
The Busters,
Y Pants,
Lindisfarne,
Lyres,
R.M.O.,
Crash Course in Science,
Moss Icon, Moss Icon, Moss Icon, Moss Icon.
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.