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 Kyrgyzstan and from Winnipeg.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Halifax.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1968 at the first Can practice in a loft in Cologne.
I was working on the oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 LL Cool J to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Doobie Brothers. All the underground hits.
All Alphaville tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Cowsills record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cure record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marc Almond,
Slave,
Monolake,
DJ Sneak,
The Pretty Things,
Faust,
Clear Light,
Schoolly D,
Talk Talk,
U.S. Maple,
Little Man,
John Lydon,
Black Pus,
The Five Americans,
The Monochrome Set,
Sonny Sharrock,
Pere Ubu,
Cheater Slicks,
Smog,
Nirvana,
Spandau Ballet,
Dead Boys,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Names,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Gladiators,
Accadde A,
Alison Limerick,
June Days,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Rufus Thomas,
Marvin Gaye,
Guru Guru,
Lebanon Hanover,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Gichy Dan,
Heaven 17,
Brass Construction,
Mo-Dettes,
Alton Ellis,
Cybotron,
Agent Orange,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Eli Mardock,
The Sound,
The Detroit Cobras,
Sällskapet,
The Mummies,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
New York Dolls,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Main Source,
Sister Nancy,
Babytalk,
John Coltrane,
Organ,
The Vogues,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Radiohead,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.
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.