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 Slovenia and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the güiro 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 Blues Magoos to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Cowsills. All the underground hits.
All The Five Americans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Vogues record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Schoolly D record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sex Pistols,
Eli Mardock,
Lou Reed,
Pussy Galore,
The Trojans,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Smoke,
The Slits,
JFA,
Ken Boothe,
Throbbing Gristle,
Crooked Eye,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Wasted Youth,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
L. Decosne,
Morten Harket,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Mad Mike,
Slave,
The Buckinghams,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
H. Thieme,
Amon Düül,
Black Pus,
Can,
Derrick May,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Peter and Kerry,
Lou Christie,
Cheater Slicks,
Infiniti,
Drexciya,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Invisible,
Cal Tjader,
Roger Hodgson,
Fluxion,
Cymande,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Mission of Burma,
Ice-T,
The Leaves,
Man Parrish,
Nation of Ulysses,
Malaria!,
Moby Grape,
Gichy Dan,
Kenny Larkin,
Marcia Griffiths,
Neil Young,
London Community Gospel Choir,
AZ,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Saints,
The Red Krayola,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Sixth Finger,
Funky Four + One,
Ohio Players,
Erykah Badu, Erykah Badu, Erykah Badu, Erykah Badu.
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.