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 Bangladesh and from Lyon.
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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Sad Lovers and Giants to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Curtis Mayfield. All the underground hits.
All Soul Sonic Force tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lee Hazlewood record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grauzone record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deepchord,
Sandy B,
Rufus Thomas,
Camberwell Now,
The Real Kids,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Sällskapet,
Black Pus,
Robert Wyatt,
The Offenders,
Judy Mowatt,
Pole,
The New Christs,
Goldenarms,
Interpol,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Mummies,
Excepter,
Henry Cow,
Rosa Yemen,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Underground Resistance,
ABC,
The Victims,
June of 44,
Quadrant,
Leonard Cohen,
Erasure,
Amon Düül,
The Smiths,
Shuggie Otis,
The Young Rascals,
Eddi Front,
Thee Headcoats,
the Soft Cell,
Pulsallama,
Ronnie Foster,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Eden Ahbez,
Rod Modell,
Idris Muhammad,
Rhythm & Sound,
Kaleidoscope,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Unrelated Segments,
Andrew Hill,
Danielle Patucci,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Roy Ayers,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Wings,
Lungfish,
Minutemen,
Mission of Burma,
Infiniti,
The Star Department,
Sparks,
Sex Pistols,
The Slackers, The Slackers, The Slackers, The Slackers.
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.