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 Uruguay and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1967 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 AZ to the techno kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 J.B.'s. All the underground hits.
All Suburban Knight tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Au Pairs 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Saccharine Trust record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
Harry Pussy,
Cecil Taylor,
The Slits,
The Seeds,
The Dead C,
Siglo XX,
Colin Newman,
Quadrant,
The Victims,
Suburban Knight,
The Offenders,
Alice Coltrane,
Television,
Minutemen,
Yaz,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Pere Ubu,
Lindisfarne,
Audionom,
DJ Style,
The Busters,
The Young Rascals,
The Misunderstood,
Hot Snakes,
The Beau Brummels,
Mo-Dettes,
Absolute Body Control,
Terrestrial Tones,
Laurel Aitken,
Frankie Knuckles,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Cluster,
Amon Düül II,
Hardrive,
Talk Talk,
Boz Scaggs,
June Days,
Sonny Sharrock,
Ultimate Spinach,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Dirtbombs,
Public Enemy,
Mark Hollis,
Echospace,
Monks,
June of 44,
Kurtis Blow,
Marine Girls,
Smog,
L. Decosne,
Royal Trux,
Wasted Youth,
Slave,
The Gories,
Todd Terry,
Stetsasonic,
Mr. Review,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Matthew Halsall,
Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler.
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.