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 Afghanistan and from Houston.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 marimba 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 Wolf Eyes to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Bobby Hutcherson. All the underground hits.
All Drive Like Jehu tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Au Pairs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Funkadelic record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gabor Szabo,
Ultravox,
Steve Hackett,
Slave,
Terrestrial Tones,
Panda Bear,
DJ Style,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Be Bop Deluxe,
X-101,
Bobby Sherman,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Crash Course in Science,
Pussy Galore,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Howard Jones,
Interpol,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Barrington Levy,
The Motions,
Underground Resistance,
The Electric Prunes,
The Dirtbombs,
Charles Mingus,
the Soft Cell,
Kenny Larkin,
Max Romeo,
The Skatalites,
The Grass Roots,
Easy Going,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Walker Brothers,
Throbbing Gristle,
Blossom Toes,
Bill Wells,
Gichy Dan,
Hasil Adkins,
Angry Samoans,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Rosa Yemen,
The Trojans,
EPMD,
The New Christs,
Kaleidoscope,
the Human League,
The United States of America,
Hot Snakes,
Jacques Brel,
Lebanon Hanover,
AZ,
Tommy Roe,
Judy Mowatt,
the Normal,
Ultra Naté,
The Music Machine,
The Flesh Eaters,
Ituana,
Dorothy Ashby,
Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker.
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.