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 Mozambique and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 arpeggiator 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 Fela Kuti to the techno kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Barracudas. All the underground hits.
All Eric Dolphy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Alison Limerick 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Alarm Clocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultimate Spinach,
The United States of America,
Monks,
Sparks,
Royal Trux,
Rapeman,
Black Pus,
The Dirtbombs,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Man Eating Sloth,
Ten City,
Con Funk Shun,
Ohio Players,
Derrick Morgan,
The Sound,
Adolescents,
A Certain Ratio,
The Slits,
Eden Ahbez,
Ultravox,
Faust,
Kenny Larkin,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Smiths,
Kerri Chandler,
L. Decosne,
Outsiders,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Star Department,
The Angels of Light,
Jesper Dahlback,
World's Most,
The Move,
New York Dolls,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Sex Pistols,
Gang Gang Dance,
Black Flag,
Sonny Sharrock,
Chris & Cosey,
Chris Corsano,
Donny Hathaway,
Sixth Finger,
ABBA,
Don Cherry,
Rekid,
Tres Demented,
Unrelated Segments,
Motorama,
The Doors,
Surgeon,
Dual Sessions,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Skaos,
Stiv Bators,
the Sonics,
Erasure,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Young Rascals,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Schoolly D,
The Electric Prunes, The Electric Prunes, The Electric Prunes, The Electric Prunes.
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.