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 Guinea and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Zapp show in Hamilton.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 The Misunderstood to the rap kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Fatback Band. All the underground hits.
All T. Rex tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Agent Orange record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lightning Bolt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eve St. Jones,
Jawbox,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
8 Eyed Spy,
Nation of Ulysses,
Blancmange,
the Slits,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Rosa Yemen,
Ornette Coleman,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Dawn Penn,
Y Pants,
Ultravox,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Black Moon,
AZ,
Patti Smith,
Siglo XX,
Avey Tare,
Los Fastidios,
Skaos,
Judy Mowatt,
Negative Approach,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Human League,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Country Teasers,
Adolescents,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Pulsallama,
Average White Band,
Faust,
Camouflage,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Scientists,
The Skatalites,
Procol Harum,
Electric Prunes,
Boredoms,
The Moody Blues,
Amon Düül,
Severed Heads,
Quando Quango,
Colin Newman,
New York Dolls,
Harry Pussy,
Japan,
Ronan,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
The Cowsills,
Susan Cadogan,
Dead Boys,
Nils Olav,
The Sonics,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Stockholm Monsters, Stockholm Monsters, Stockholm Monsters, Stockholm Monsters.
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.