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 Czech Republic and from Madrid.
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 1962 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 snare 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 New Age Steppers to the grime 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 Faraquet. All the underground hits.
All Crash Course in Science tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Flipper record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 snare and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Johnny Clarke record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pagans,
Amazonics,
The Fugs,
kango's stein massive,
Joey Negro,
A Certain Ratio,
Ronan,
Loose Ends,
Kool Moe Dee,
T. Rex,
the Soft Cell,
Tears for Fears,
Ultravox,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Andrew Hill,
Mission of Burma,
Eden Ahbez,
Blossom Toes,
The Doors,
The Cowsills,
Wally Richardson,
Kenny Larkin,
Skarface,
Television,
Minnie Riperton,
Infiniti,
Dead Boys,
Malaria!,
Freddie Wadling,
The Names,
Hot Snakes,
The Gories,
Erykah Badu,
Gang Gang Dance,
Eric B and Rakim,
Colin Newman,
Kerri Chandler,
Excepter,
Tomorrow,
The Mummies,
Sällskapet,
Kayak,
Groovy Waters,
World's Most,
Sugar Minott,
The Doobie Brothers,
Trumans Water,
Ash Ra Tempel,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Jacques Brel,
Ossler,
Popol Vuh,
Eve St. Jones,
The Stooges,
Shuggie Otis,
Y Pants,
Bob Dylan,
X-101,
Harry Pussy,
Ultimate Spinach,
Jandek,
KRS-One,
These Immortal Souls, These Immortal Souls, These Immortal Souls, These Immortal Souls.
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.