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 Madagascar and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Sao Paulo.
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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Michelle Simonal to the punk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Neon Judgement. All the underground hits.
All Pantaleimon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cabaret Voltaire 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pulsallama record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marcia Griffiths,
Blancmange,
Minnie Riperton,
Scrapy,
Tommy Roe,
Sun Ra,
Rosa Yemen,
Visage,
the Slits,
K-Klass,
Matthew Bourne,
the Sonics,
Severed Heads,
Grey Daturas,
The Saints,
Brick,
Ossler,
Gastr Del Sol,
Icehouse,
Cheater Slicks,
The Residents,
Dead Boys,
Banda Bassotti,
Reuben Wilson,
Soulsonic Force,
MC5,
Little Man,
Los Fastidios,
10cc,
Qualms,
Minor Threat,
The Electric Prunes,
Eric Dolphy,
Graham Central Station,
Roy Ayers,
The New Christs,
The Trojans,
Oblivians,
Flash Fearless,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Cecil Taylor,
8 Eyed Spy,
Bootsy Collins,
Andrew Hill,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Doors,
Robert Görl,
Soul Sonic Force,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Godley & Creme,
Toni Rubio,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Letta Mbulu,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Dawn Penn,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Move,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Malaria!, Malaria!, Malaria!, Malaria!.
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.