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 Taiwan and from Bremen.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the snare 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 Deepchord to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Man Eating Sloth. All the underground hits.
All Jesper Dahlback tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bang on a Can All-Stars record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jesper Dahlbäck record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
Excepter,
Flamin' Groovies,
Q and Not U,
The Blues Magoos,
Mandrill,
Hasil Adkins,
Los Fastidios,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Bob Dylan,
June of 44,
Trumans Water,
Alice Coltrane,
Grauzone,
MC5,
Amon Düül II,
Lou Christie,
June Days,
Bauhaus,
Joyce Sims,
Drexciya,
Black Sheep,
Gang of Four,
Lalann,
Joensuu 1685,
MDC,
Girls At Our Best!,
Gastr Del Sol,
Cecil Taylor,
A Certain Ratio,
Sparks,
John Cale,
Pantaleimon,
The Young Rascals,
Wasted Youth,
The Count Five,
Qualms,
Jawbox,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Selecter,
Bobby Womack,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
H. Thieme,
Yusef Lateef,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Audionom,
The Searchers,
Slick Rick,
Max Romeo,
Neil Young,
Depeche Mode,
The Leaves,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Dorothy Ashby,
FM Einheit,
Althea and Donna,
The Barracudas,
Royal Trux,
Motorama,
Bad Manners,
Avey Tare, Avey Tare, Avey Tare, Avey Tare.
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.