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 Equatorial Guinea and from London.
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 1966 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Philadelphia.
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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Silicon Teens to the funk 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 Scratch Acid. All the underground hits.
All Roy Ayers Ubiquity tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Unwound record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mary Jane Girls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Matthew Bourne,
Alphaville,
Bronski Beat,
Max Romeo,
Fear,
Cal Tjader,
Moby Grape,
Ash Ra Tempel,
48th St. Collective,
Sällskapet,
K-Klass,
The Detroit Cobras,
Neil Young,
Gang Gang Dance,
Minutemen,
Bluetip,
Public Enemy,
Tropical Tobacco,
Lungfish,
The Monochrome Set,
The Cowsills,
David Bowie,
John Holt,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Spandau Ballet,
Andrew Hill,
MDC,
Angry Samoans,
David Axelrod,
Donny Hathaway,
In Retrospect,
The Invisible,
Colin Newman,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Metal Thangz,
These Immortal Souls,
Anakelly,
A Certain Ratio,
The Stooges,
Big Daddy Kane,
Aaron Thompson,
Echospace,
Lalann,
The Fall,
The Last Poets,
Amon Düül II,
Janne Schatter,
Prince Buster,
Lalo Schifrin,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Mummies,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Fortunes,
Derrick Morgan,
Glenn Branca,
The Gun Club,
Alice Coltrane,
Josef K,
Rites of Spring,
The Searchers,
F. McDonald, F. McDonald, F. McDonald, F. McDonald.
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.