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 New York.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Ronnie Foster to the grime kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Lyres. All the underground hits.
All Arthur Verocai tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pylon 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Sonics record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Raincoats,
Hoover,
Gong,
Faraquet,
Steve Hackett,
The Martian,
Sexual Harrassment,
Marvin Gaye,
The Moleskins,
Stiv Bators,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Y Pants,
The Birthday Party,
Arthur Verocai,
Rites of Spring,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Jesper Dahlback,
KRS-One,
Roxette,
Young Marble Giants,
The Gories,
The Tremeloes,
The Mummies,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Monks,
Nik Kershaw,
Bootsy Collins,
Howard Jones,
June of 44,
Fugazi,
Gang Green,
Erykah Badu,
Buzzcocks,
Eric B and Rakim,
Das Ding,
Joy Division,
Eric Copeland,
Pet Shop Boys,
Grauzone,
Groovy Waters,
Yellowson,
David McCallum,
Sun Ra,
Dave Gahan,
Kayak,
Anthony Braxton,
Barbara Tucker,
Donald Byrd,
Maurizio,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Dorothy Ashby,
Rakim,
The Flesh Eaters,
Rotary Connection,
Scan 7,
Joensuu 1685,
Spoonie Gee,
The Cowsills,
Neu!,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Harpers Bizarre,
Glenn Branca,
Stockholm Monsters, Stockholm Monsters, Stockholm Monsters, Stockholm Monsters.
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.