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 Eritrea and from Sao Paulo.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Jeru the Damaja to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Crispian St. Peters. All the underground hits.
All Alison Limerick tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Guru Guru record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fat Boys record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tomorrow,
Pole,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Excepter,
The New Christs,
The Kinks,
Porter Ricks,
Agent Orange,
Sandy B,
Severed Heads,
The Happenings,
Electric Prunes,
Urselle,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Pussy Galore,
Heaven 17,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Tom Boy,
Metal Thangz,
Eden Ahbez,
Faraquet,
The Electric Prunes,
The Blackbyrds,
New York Dolls,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Sun Ra,
FM Einheit,
Crash Course in Science,
David Bowie,
Clear Light,
Crispy Ambulance,
Derrick May,
Black Bananas,
Stetsasonic,
The Doobie Brothers,
This Heat,
Crooked Eye,
The Velvet Underground,
Blake Baxter,
Stockholm Monsters,
Ken Boothe,
Todd Terry,
Shuggie Otis,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Brass Construction,
Parry Music,
Rod Modell,
Little Man,
Khruangbin,
The Vogues,
Moby Grape,
Alice Coltrane,
The Slackers,
Symarip,
Circle Jerks,
Nik Kershaw,
Laurel Aitken,
Danielle Patucci,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Invisible,
June of 44,
Jeff Mills,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Mark Hollis, Mark Hollis, Mark Hollis, Mark Hollis.
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.