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 Argentina and from Paris.
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 1960 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Severed Heads to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Kings Of Tomorrow. All the underground hits.
All The Doors tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crash Course in Science record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jeff Lynne record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Scott Walker,
Bobby Sherman,
Negative Approach,
Danielle Patucci,
London Community Gospel Choir,
David Bowie,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Niagra,
Hasil Adkins,
James Chance & The Contortions,
D'Angelo,
The Offenders,
Sugar Minott,
Motorama,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Scratch Acid,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The American Breed,
Slick Rick,
The Wake,
The Monks,
The Slits,
The Sound,
Buzzcocks,
Crash Course in Science,
Jacques Brel,
Mission of Burma,
Boogie Down Productions,
Cymande,
Frankie Knuckles,
Faust,
Adolescents,
Robert Wyatt,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
U.S. Maple,
Public Image Ltd.,
Brass Construction,
FM Einheit,
F. McDonald,
The Evens,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Sällskapet,
Godley & Creme,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Don Cherry,
K-Klass,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Joe Smooth,
Big Daddy Kane,
Connie Case,
OOIOO,
Ohio Players,
Roxette,
Al Stewart,
Gil Scott Heron,
Underground Resistance,
Cheater Slicks,
Kayak,
Radiopuhelimet,
Roy Ayers,
Crooked Eye,
Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson.
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.