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 Korea South and from Jakarta.
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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 harpsichord 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 Juan Atkins 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 Suburban Knight. All the underground hits.
All The Gun Club tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marshall Jefferson 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 Henry Cow record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Au Pairs,
Urselle,
Gong,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Mo-Dettes,
Robert Görl,
Joe Finger,
Beasts of Bourbon,
David Bowie,
Lungfish,
Circle Jerks,
John Cale,
Sonny Sharrock,
Throbbing Gristle,
Youth Brigade,
Infiniti,
Eve St. Jones,
New Age Steppers,
The American Breed,
H. Thieme,
The Seeds,
Bluetip,
Howard Jones,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Section 25,
China Crisis,
The Tremeloes,
Black Moon,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Bob Dylan,
Jawbox,
Animal Collective,
Lightning Bolt,
Bad Manners,
Ronnie Foster,
Scott Walker,
Lakeside,
Skaos,
Jesper Dahlback,
Von Mondo,
Minutemen,
The Durutti Column,
Deakin,
Iggy Pop,
Angry Samoans,
Simply Red,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
the Germs,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Essential Logic,
Eurythmics,
the Bar-Kays,
Godley & Creme,
New Order,
The Standells,
Hashim,
the Association,
Fear,
Judy Mowatt,
The Fugs,
Darondo,
Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus, Black Pus.
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.