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 Albania and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1963 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 mellotron 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 Black Sheep to the grunge 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 the Fania All-Stars. All the underground hits.
All Sex Pistols tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Royal Family And The Poor 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dawn Penn record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Average White Band,
Mr. Review,
The Last Poets,
Scrapy,
Gang Starr,
The Happenings,
U.S. Maple,
Nation of Ulysses,
Gil Scott Heron,
Television,
Donald Byrd,
Jeff Lynne,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Jawbox,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Pussy Galore,
Soul II Soul,
AZ,
Saccharine Trust,
Robert Görl,
The Sound,
Clear Light,
The Tremeloes,
Alice Coltrane,
Gabor Szabo,
Dark Day,
Kool Moe Dee,
Wasted Youth,
The Invisible,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Donny Hathaway,
Banda Bassotti,
Brand Nubian,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
D'Angelo,
Bootsy Collins,
MC5,
Kerri Chandler,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Rekid,
Panda Bear,
Ituana,
Spoonie Gee,
The Count Five,
Lakeside,
Faraquet,
Fluxion,
The Mummies,
Vainqueur,
Marmalade,
Monolake,
The Zeros,
Andrew Hill,
Derrick May,
Niagra,
UT,
Angry Samoans,
The New Christs,
The Fire Engines,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Faust,
Dawn Penn,
Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish.
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.