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 Kenya and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the guitar 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 Fugs to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Swell Maps. All the underground hits.
All Eric B and Rakim tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Hasil Adkins record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Busters,
Slave,
Josef K,
James Chance & The Contortions,
La Düsseldorf,
Yazoo,
David Axelrod,
Flipper,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Aswad,
Nils Olav,
Todd Terry,
Cecil Taylor,
Letta Mbulu,
Echospace,
Monks,
New Age Steppers,
Scion,
U.S. Maple,
Buzzcocks,
Johnny Clarke,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Toasters,
E-Dancer,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Sällskapet,
Quando Quango,
Andrew Hill,
Slick Rick,
Suburban Knight,
Scratch Acid,
Grauzone,
Swell Maps,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Mummies,
Jacob Miller,
The Modern Lovers,
The Saints,
Joe Finger,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Real Kids,
Wire,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Lindisfarne,
The Misunderstood,
OOIOO,
B.T. Express,
Agent Orange,
Peter and Kerry,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
John Foxx,
Roxette,
Animal Collective,
Arab on Radar,
Boredoms,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Darondo,
Tommy Roe,
Eden Ahbez,
The Durutti Column,
Sex Pistols,
The Monochrome Set,
Supertramp, Supertramp, Supertramp, Supertramp.
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.