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 Papua New Guinea and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the organ 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 Yaz to the grunge kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Human League. All the underground hits.
All Siouxsie and the Banshees tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Dirtbombs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 sitar and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Q65,
H. Thieme,
The Gun Club,
Silicon Teens,
Eve St. Jones,
Stetsasonic,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Slackers,
Parry Music,
Lucky Dragons,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Ultra Naté,
DJ Style,
Monolake,
The Names,
The Saints,
The Durutti Column,
Bluetip,
Cheater Slicks,
Toni Rubio,
The Blackbyrds,
Fat Boys,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Doobie Brothers,
Qualms,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Hot Snakes,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Yusef Lateef,
The Zeros,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Minny Pops,
Bobby Hutcherson,
T.S.O.L.,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
8 Eyed Spy,
One Last Wish,
X-102,
Lakeside,
A Certain Ratio,
Soft Cell,
Crash Course in Science,
John Foxx,
Ultravox,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Infiniti,
Gang of Four,
Supertramp,
Crime,
David Axelrod,
The Mummies,
Pylon,
Kurtis Blow,
Suicide,
Jacques Brel,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Man Parrish,
Alison Limerick,
Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun, Con Funk Shun.
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.