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 Djibouti and from Johannesburg.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 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 Erykah Badu to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Donald Byrd. All the underground hits.
All Liliput tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gong 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Barry Ungar record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Nik Kershaw,
Y Pants,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Andrew Hill,
Lakeside,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
R.M.O.,
Tres Demented,
The Index,
Jimmy McGriff,
the Slits,
Mary Jane Girls,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Selecter,
The Dave Clark Five,
Lungfish,
Ralphi Rosario,
Circle Jerks,
Charles Mingus,
the Fania All-Stars,
Das Ding,
Dorothy Ashby,
Popol Vuh,
Ronan,
Simply Red,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Rites of Spring,
Half Japanese,
Quantec,
Procol Harum,
The Blackbyrds,
Laurel Aitken,
Morten Harket,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Crime,
Neu!,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Susan Cadogan,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Duran Duran,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Amazonics,
The Slits,
The Gap Band,
Siglo XX,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Angels of Light,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
The Litter,
Howard Jones,
Marc Almond,
Frankie Knuckles,
Matthew Bourne,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Harmonia,
Carl Craig,
F. McDonald,
Agent Orange,
Black Pus,
H. Thieme,
Aural Exciters,
The Toasters, The Toasters, The Toasters, The Toasters.
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.