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 Burkina and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Residents to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 London Community Gospel Choir. All the underground hits.
All Flamin' Groovies tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Gerry Rafferty record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 an arpeggiator and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dead C record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eurythmics,
Black Flag,
Reuben Wilson,
Minny Pops,
DJ Style,
Cybotron,
Rod Modell,
Eden Ahbez,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Ultimate Spinach,
D'Angelo,
Surgeon,
Slave,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Susan Cadogan,
Sun Ra,
June Days,
Mark Hollis,
Cluster,
Marmalade,
Moby Grape,
Joy Division,
Funky Four + One,
Black Bananas,
Todd Terry,
Boredoms,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Robert Wyatt,
The Doors,
Gang of Four,
Skaos,
Soul Sonic Force,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Black Dice,
Joe Smooth,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Spandau Ballet,
June of 44,
Pole,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Neil Young,
ABBA,
Bad Manners,
Kerrie Biddell,
Lungfish,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Motorama,
One Last Wish,
Audionom,
Lyres,
Nation of Ulysses,
Minnie Riperton,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Big Daddy Kane,
Bobby Hutcherson,
The Modern Lovers,
Carl Craig,
Bobby Byrd,
Sun City Girls,
Agent Orange,
Patti Smith,
Jawbox,
ABC,
Flash Fearless, Flash Fearless, Flash Fearless, Flash Fearless.
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.