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 Lebanon and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Bang On A Can to the disco kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 AZ. All the underground hits.
All Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Malaria! record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a June of 44 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Joe Finger,
Fatback Band,
The Electric Prunes,
Shuggie Otis,
Index,
Rapeman,
Nik Kershaw,
The Trojans,
The Evens,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
The Seeds,
Chrome,
Bobby Womack,
Suburban Knight,
The Neon Judgement,
Flamin' Groovies,
Soul II Soul,
Kenny Larkin,
Derrick May,
Mo-Dettes,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Wings,
Ponytail,
Hot Snakes,
the Bar-Kays,
PIL,
Siglo XX,
Ludus,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Urselle,
The Cure,
Soulsonic Force,
Johnny Clarke,
Soft Cell,
Khruangbin,
Ossler,
Bush Tetras,
New York Dolls,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Mummies,
Radiohead,
the Fania All-Stars,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Human League,
Dave Gahan,
Desert Stars,
The Victims,
The Associates,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Buzzcocks,
Cal Tjader,
The Litter,
Delta 5,
Aaron Thompson,
Monks,
Jacob Miller,
The American Breed,
The Flesh Eaters,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Interpol,
Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks.
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.