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 Spain and from Delhi.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 spring reverb 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 Young Marble Giants to the techno 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 The Gun Club. All the underground hits.
All The Cosmic Jokers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eddi Front 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Be Bop Deluxe record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
June Days,
Kerri Chandler,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Mr. Review,
Goldenarms,
Grandmaster Flash,
Hoover,
Mo-Dettes,
Neu!,
Wally Richardson,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
the Sonics,
Agent Orange,
Chris Corsano,
Ronan,
Symarip,
Ralphi Rosario,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Public Enemy,
Suicide,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Max Romeo,
K-Klass,
Zapp,
EPMD,
E-Dancer,
World's Most,
The Monochrome Set,
The Birthday Party,
Duran Duran,
Wings,
The Pretty Things,
Siglo XX,
Gang of Four,
The Blues Magoos,
Von Mondo,
Spandau Ballet,
June of 44,
Yaz,
8 Eyed Spy,
Hardrive,
The Music Machine,
The Human League,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Ponytail,
Stockholm Monsters,
Circle Jerks,
Gastr Del Sol,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Bootsy Collins,
John Coltrane,
The Cramps,
Whodini,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Bang On A Can,
Black Bananas,
Lakeside,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Vogues,
Aloha Tigers,
the Fania All-Stars,
Peter and Kerry, Peter and Kerry, Peter and Kerry, Peter and Kerry.
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.