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 Senegal and from Salvador.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 1979 at the first Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Sister Nancy to the techno 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 Johnny Osbourne. All the underground hits.
All Jeff Lynne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Saints record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 spring reverb and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Art Ensemble Of Chicago record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Wake,
Agent Orange,
Skarface,
Carl Craig,
Sex Pistols,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Fatback Band,
Robert Wyatt,
Gong,
Charles Mingus,
Gang Starr,
The Slackers,
Vladislav Delay,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Flesh Eaters,
Q and Not U,
Don Cherry,
Radio Birdman,
The Saints,
The Slits,
The Offenders,
The Pretty Things,
Gastr Del Sol,
Fifty Foot Hose,
AZ,
Laurel Aitken,
F. McDonald,
The Angels of Light,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Pantaleimon,
Country Teasers,
Black Moon,
The Gun Club,
Minor Threat,
Dark Day,
Brand Nubian,
Josef K,
Arcadia,
Babytalk,
Von Mondo,
Jacques Brel,
Pussy Galore,
Sight & Sound,
Supertramp,
Heaven 17,
The Misunderstood,
Kevin Saunderson,
Amon Düül II,
Ultra Naté,
Siglo XX,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Gories,
Royal Trux,
Mandrill,
Aswad,
Marc Almond,
Shuggie Otis,
Minutemen,
R.M.O.,
Barbara Tucker,
The Five Americans,
Minnie Riperton, Minnie Riperton, Minnie Riperton, Minnie Riperton.
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.