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 Costa Rica and from Shanghai.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Lagos.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1962 at the first Guess Who practice in a loft in Winnipeg.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Donald Byrd 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 Alison Limerick. All the underground hits.
All Blossom Toes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Moody Blues record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 chamberlin and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Trojans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mr. Review,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Tom Boy,
John Lydon,
Tomorrow,
Toni Rubio,
Peter & Gordon,
The American Breed,
New York Dolls,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Sonics,
Pierre Henry,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Tropical Tobacco,
Altered Images,
Black Bananas,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Selecter,
Outsiders,
The Last Poets,
Lou Christie,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Donny Hathaway,
Monolake,
Camouflage,
Hot Snakes,
Connie Case,
Erasure,
Organ,
The Knickerbockers,
Television Personalities,
June Days,
Vladislav Delay,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Warren Ellis,
The Wake,
Mandrill,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Evens,
The Names,
Piero Umiliani,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Jacques Brel,
Derrick May,
The Raincoats,
Heaven 17,
Lindisfarne,
Crime,
Agent Orange,
Anthony Braxton,
Rapeman,
Sarah Menescal,
Desert Stars,
Spoonie Gee,
The Cosmic Jokers,
X-102,
Suicide,
Crash Course in Science,
The Flesh Eaters,
Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop, Iggy Pop.
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.