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 Madagascar and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron 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 1967 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 oboe 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 Rufus Thomas to the grunge kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Justin Hinds & The Dominoes. All the underground hits.
All Big Daddy Kane tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eve St. Jones record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Sisters of Mercy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
One Last Wish,
Can,
Agent Orange,
Michelle Simonal,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Graham Central Station,
Bill Near,
Crispian St. Peters,
Das Ding,
The Raincoats,
Gang of Four,
Blossom Toes,
Y Pants,
The Count Five,
Echospace,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Harpers Bizarre,
Lightning Bolt,
John Lydon,
Skaos,
Circle Jerks,
Zero Boys,
Technova,
Essential Logic,
Harmonia,
The Walker Brothers,
Adolescents,
Black Flag,
Television,
EPMD,
Dead Boys,
Underground Resistance,
Scientists,
Thompson Twins,
Cecil Taylor,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Letta Mbulu,
The Gories,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
the Association,
Accadde A,
Bobby Womack,
Porter Ricks,
X-Ray Spex,
Joe Smooth,
The Fuzztones,
Freddie Wadling,
The Real Kids,
Clear Light,
The Toasters,
Franke,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Flamin' Groovies,
Danielle Patucci,
Neil Young,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Mummies,
Unrelated Segments,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Donny Hathaway,
8 Eyed Spy,
Fugazi,
Matthew Bourne, Matthew Bourne, Matthew Bourne, Matthew Bourne.
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.