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 Colombia and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 The Remains 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 Spandau Ballet. All the underground hits.
All Magma tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobby Hutcherson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lungfish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sunsets and Hearts,
Outsiders,
The Gories,
Buzzcocks,
Bad Manners,
Black Pus,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Sällskapet,
Bob Dylan,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Mojo Men,
Fluxion,
Prince Buster,
Porter Ricks,
Motorama,
cv313,
ABBA,
Wally Richardson,
Oneida,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Moody Blues,
The Invisible,
Crash Course in Science,
Sun Ra,
The Shadows of Knight,
Jerry's Kids,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
48th St. Collective,
Quantec,
Chris & Cosey,
Ice-T,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Girls At Our Best!,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Stetsasonic,
Reuben Wilson,
Lucky Dragons,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Ralphi Rosario,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Tres Demented,
David Bowie,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Siglo XX,
Fad Gadget,
The Doobie Brothers,
Nation of Ulysses,
Jawbox,
The J.B.'s,
Agitation Free,
Byron Stingily,
Delta 5,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
E-Dancer,
Roy Ayers,
X-102,
The Mighty Diamonds,
China Crisis,
Archie Shepp,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Sonics, The Sonics, The Sonics, The Sonics.
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.