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 Equatorial Guinea and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 Halifax and Copenhagen.
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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Young Rascals to the crunk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Buzzcocks. All the underground hits.
All Suicide tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Moebius 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Grauzone record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mad Mike,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Livin' Joy,
The Dirtbombs,
Blancmange,
Tears for Fears,
Arab on Radar,
Sparks,
Josef K,
Index,
Frankie Knuckles,
Electric Prunes,
Nik Kershaw,
Brick,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Blake Baxter,
David Axelrod,
The Kinks,
Symarip,
Gang Starr,
Pantytec,
Joe Finger,
Howard Jones,
Japan,
the Soft Cell,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Boz Scaggs,
Wolf Eyes,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Pharoah Sanders,
Bill Near,
Ossler,
Scrapy,
La Düsseldorf,
Rhythm & Sound,
Bauhaus,
The Smiths,
Harpers Bizarre,
The J.B.'s,
Glenn Branca,
The American Breed,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Eric B and Rakim,
Stiv Bators,
Visage,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Bobby Byrd,
Leonard Cohen,
Man Parrish,
Bootsy Collins,
Laurel Aitken,
Hoover,
Niagra,
The Zeros,
Eve St. Jones,
Hasil Adkins,
Neil Young,
Alison Limerick,
Jeff Mills,
Crime,
The Blackbyrds,
Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode.
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.