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 Maldives and from Lagos.
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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Tropical Tobacco to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Lindisfarne. All the underground hits.
All Sly & The Family Stone tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Pus 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Livin' Joy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Moleskins,
Agent Orange,
Scott Walker,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
L. Decosne,
Marmalade,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Amon Düül II,
Donny Hathaway,
Black Pus,
Cymande,
The Evens,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
X-Ray Spex,
Cluster,
Ice-T,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
the Association,
Hardrive,
the Human League,
Skarface,
Negative Approach,
John Foxx,
Masters at Work,
Desert Stars,
Jeff Mills,
Roy Ayers,
Mr. Review,
Flipper,
Clear Light,
Dorothy Ashby,
Pagans,
Joy Division,
Johnny Clarke,
Bobby Sherman,
Urselle,
Stereo Dub,
Laurel Aitken,
Morten Harket,
Loose Ends,
Gang of Four,
Newcleus,
Mission of Burma,
Supertramp,
The Gun Club,
Liliput,
The Doors,
Darondo,
Country Teasers,
Franke,
Hasil Adkins,
Half Japanese,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Shoche,
Archie Shepp,
Ultravox,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Grey Daturas,
Au Pairs,
Aloha Tigers,
The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds.
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.