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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1963 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Arcadia to the jazz 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 Excepter. All the underground hits.
All The Gories tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Underground Resistance 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eve St. Jones 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?
The Names,
Camouflage,
Aaron Thompson,
Franke,
Royal Trux,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
B.T. Express,
Grandmaster Flash,
Y Pants,
Saccharine Trust,
The Cowsills,
Magma,
Joyce Sims,
Hoover,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Davy DMX,
Scion,
Trumans Water,
Jesper Dahlback,
Moby Grape,
Ralphi Rosario,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Nas,
Sister Nancy,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Neon Judgement,
The Music Machine,
The Martian,
Donald Byrd,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Birthday Party,
Boz Scaggs,
Tears for Fears,
ABC,
Khruangbin,
Little Man,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Vladislav Delay,
The Black Dice,
Bad Manners,
Barbara Tucker,
Motorama,
Radiopuhelimet,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Masters at Work,
the Normal,
The Angels of Light,
kango's stein massive,
Todd Terry,
Panda Bear,
Agitation Free,
Ice-T,
Juan Atkins,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Rufus Thomas,
Porter Ricks,
Sällskapet,
Japan,
Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman, Bobby Sherman.
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.