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 Sudan and from Jakarta.
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 1960 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 T. Rex to the punk 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 Sonic Youth. All the underground hits.
All The Grass Roots tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pantytec record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk 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 marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang of Four record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Last Poets,
Royal Trux,
Oblivians,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Joe Smooth,
the Sonics,
Yusef Lateef,
Cameo,
Maurizio,
The Dirtbombs,
Brick,
Lyres,
Harry Pussy,
UT,
Roger Hodgson,
Tropical Tobacco,
E-Dancer,
Young Marble Giants,
Model 500,
Yellowson,
Arcadia,
Harmonia,
The Busters,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Silicon Teens,
Von Mondo,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Rites of Spring,
Wolf Eyes,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Durutti Column,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Pagans,
Minutemen,
Chris Corsano,
Amazonics,
The Moody Blues,
Jacob Miller,
Iggy Pop,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Evens,
Nas,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Zeros,
The Seeds,
Funkadelic,
Byron Stingily,
The Moleskins,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Litter,
Sun City Girls,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
10cc,
The Raincoats,
Fat Boys,
Rotary Connection,
Josef K,
The New Christs,
The Electric Prunes,
Robert Wyatt, Robert Wyatt, Robert Wyatt, Robert Wyatt.
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.