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 Slovenia and from Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
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 June of 44 to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Velvet Underground. All the underground hits.
All The Grass Roots tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Section 25 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Connie Case record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Scientists,
Y Pants,
The Monochrome Set,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Guru Guru,
Tomorrow,
Sexual Harrassment,
Average White Band,
The Doobie Brothers,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Jeff Mills,
Ultravox,
Soft Cell,
Aural Exciters,
Kerri Chandler,
The Stooges,
Pere Ubu,
Hoover,
Rapeman,
Tropical Tobacco,
Gregory Isaacs,
Urselle,
The Fall,
The Last Poets,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Scan 7,
Eve St. Jones,
Los Fastidios,
Wings,
Desert Stars,
Symarip,
Severed Heads,
Mo-Dettes,
Yellowson,
DJ Sneak,
Crispian St. Peters,
Joyce Sims,
Stetsasonic,
Suburban Knight,
Audionom,
Fugazi,
These Immortal Souls,
Erykah Badu,
Don Cherry,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Cramps,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Grey Daturas,
The Gap Band,
Neil Young,
8 Eyed Spy,
Eden Ahbez,
Joy Division,
James White and The Blacks,
Darondo,
The Doors,
The Residents,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Quando Quango,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Sarah Menescal,
F. McDonald, F. McDonald, F. McDonald, F. McDonald.
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.