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 Zimbabwe and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide 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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Houston.
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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Babytalk to the grunge 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 June of 44. All the underground hits.
All The Sisters of Mercy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nation of Ulysses record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Icehouse record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Slackers,
Ludus,
The Knickerbockers,
The Skatalites,
Shuggie Otis,
David Axelrod,
Technova,
Althea and Donna,
Maurizio,
Amon Düül II,
Suicide,
Ohio Players,
Arab on Radar,
The Gories,
Avey Tare,
Amazonics,
Grauzone,
JFA,
Alice Coltrane,
Camouflage,
Wire,
The Techniques,
Massinfluence,
Franke,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Intrusion,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Visage,
John Holt,
Nation of Ulysses,
Nico,
Aural Exciters,
Radio Birdman,
The Beau Brummels,
David Bowie,
Donald Byrd,
Sixth Finger,
Minutemen,
Motorama,
The Cramps,
Deakin,
Kas Product,
Roger Hodgson,
Hoover,
The Searchers,
The Neon Judgement,
Patti Smith,
Loose Ends,
L. Decosne,
John Lydon,
Monks,
Danielle Patucci,
Ituana,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Ponytail,
Warsaw,
Fad Gadget,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Sound,
Swans,
The Smoke,
48th St. Collective,
The Smiths,
Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox, Jawbox.
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.