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 Dominican Republic and from Edmonton.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Monks to the dance 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 Yaz. All the underground hits.
All Lindisfarne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Soft Cell 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Zapp record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Beau Brummels,
Television Personalities,
Royal Trux,
Agent Orange,
the Fania All-Stars,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Rufus Thomas,
Japan,
Sonic Youth,
Sun Ra,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Cluster,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Stiv Bators,
The Star Department,
These Immortal Souls,
Bill Wells,
Marine Girls,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Metal Thangz,
June of 44,
Barry Ungar,
Radio Birdman,
Glenn Branca,
Boz Scaggs,
Dual Sessions,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Y Pants,
Gang of Four,
Oneida,
Barclay James Harvest,
K-Klass,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Bang On A Can,
The Alarm Clocks,
Bootsy Collins,
Interpol,
Hardrive,
Infiniti,
Magma,
Severed Heads,
Terry Callier,
Skarface,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Suburban Knight,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Main Source,
Mandrill,
F. McDonald,
Wally Richardson,
Kenny Larkin,
New Order,
Janne Schatter,
Bob Dylan,
Adolescents,
Arthur Verocai,
Crime,
Lungfish,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Liliput, Liliput, Liliput, Liliput.
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.