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 Djibouti and from Shanghai.
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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Columbus.
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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Marc Almond to the disco 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 Peanut Butter Conspiracy. All the underground hits.
All Tomorrow tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Public Image Ltd. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 a marimba and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a B.T. Express record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tears for Fears,
Dawn Penn,
Shuggie Otis,
Brothers Johnson,
Kas Product,
Crooked Eye,
Janne Schatter,
Barry Ungar,
Gichy Dan,
Bill Near,
Yazoo,
Harry Pussy,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Mojo Men,
Procol Harum,
Index,
These Immortal Souls,
John Lydon,
The Young Rascals,
The Gun Club,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Michelle Simonal,
The Residents,
The Mummies,
Lindisfarne,
Graham Central Station,
Ten City,
The Beau Brummels,
Ludus,
Sun Ra,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Desert Stars,
Gregory Isaacs,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Guru Guru,
Pussy Galore,
Panda Bear,
Basic Channel,
Mission of Burma,
Dark Day,
Amazonics,
Gang Gang Dance,
Junior Murvin,
Fugazi,
Flash Fearless,
The Alarm Clocks,
Chrome,
The Five Americans,
Eric B and Rakim,
Ultra Naté,
The Golliwogs,
Parry Music,
Nico,
Sparks,
Lungfish,
Pylon,
Motorama,
The Motions,
The Blues Magoos,
Gong,
Scion, Scion, Scion, Scion.
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.