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 New Zealand and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 Salvador and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Aaron Thompson to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Pere Ubu. All the underground hits.
All Mary Jane Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Flock of Seagulls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Livin' Joy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Agent Orange,
The Leaves,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Happenings,
Fat Boys,
Guru Guru,
Dead Boys,
Neu!,
Excepter,
Crispy Ambulance,
Henry Cow,
Alice Coltrane,
Los Fastidios,
David Bowie,
The Neon Judgement,
The Smiths,
Sex Pistols,
Andrew Hill,
Joe Finger,
The Toasters,
The Beau Brummels,
The Victims,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Red Krayola,
Eric B and Rakim,
Technova,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Public Image Ltd.,
Scion,
The J.B.'s,
the Soft Cell,
Supertramp,
Stockholm Monsters,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Zero Boys,
Kas Product,
Harpers Bizarre,
Jerry's Kids,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Jeru the Damaja,
Danielle Patucci,
Peter and Kerry,
Max Romeo,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Standells,
Hashim,
Scratch Acid,
The Seeds,
Infiniti,
MC5,
Deepchord,
Aural Exciters,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Wings,
Khruangbin,
Royal Trux,
Yusef Lateef,
Pierre Henry,
Agitation Free,
The Martian,
Das Ding, Das Ding, Das Ding, Das Ding.
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.