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 Oman and from London.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Archie Shepp to the crunk kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Nico. All the underground hits.
All The Leaves tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Flamin' Groovies 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Divine Comedy,
Section 25,
Byron Stingily,
Alison Limerick,
Saccharine Trust,
Roxy Music,
The Victims,
Barrington Levy,
Ornette Coleman,
The Detroit Cobras,
Isaac Hayes,
The Pretty Things,
X-101,
the Bar-Kays,
Chris & Cosey,
Wasted Youth,
Warsaw,
Livin' Joy,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Maleditus Sound,
Laurel Aitken,
ABBA,
Throbbing Gristle,
Sparks,
Eric Dolphy,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Letta Mbulu,
Nik Kershaw,
The Walker Brothers,
R.M.O.,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Electric Prunes,
Icehouse,
Cameo,
Yazoo,
8 Eyed Spy,
Robert Görl,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Nation of Ulysses,
Black Flag,
Blake Baxter,
The Evens,
Mr. Review,
Graham Central Station,
June of 44,
Prince Buster,
The Buckinghams,
The Durutti Column,
Stockholm Monsters,
Au Pairs,
Fad Gadget,
Bluetip,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Joyce Sims,
Oneida,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Erykah Badu,
Niagra,
The Pop Group,
Boz Scaggs, Boz Scaggs, Boz Scaggs, Boz Scaggs.
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.