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 Guatemala and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Halifax.
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 1983 at the first Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the oboe 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 Desert Stars 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 Echospace. All the underground hits.
All Sparks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 snare and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mad Mike record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Hutcherson,
Jacques Brel,
Bootsy Collins,
The Sonics,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Deadbeat,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
John Holt,
Flamin' Groovies,
Yaz,
Lower 48,
Letta Mbulu,
Wire,
Rakim,
Terrestrial Tones,
Rod Modell,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Saints,
Davy DMX,
Eric Copeland,
Thee Headcoats,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
The Smiths,
Connie Case,
The Beau Brummels,
Ten City,
Qualms,
Icehouse,
Lou Christie,
Juan Atkins,
Stereo Dub,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Sonic Youth,
Y Pants,
Accadde A,
Saccharine Trust,
Massinfluence,
Model 500,
The Skatalites,
Tubeway Army,
Graham Central Station,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Alison Limerick,
Sixth Finger,
One Last Wish,
Black Pus,
Quantec,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Gang Green,
Hoover,
Joey Negro,
Jimmy McGriff,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Country Joe & The Fish,
a-ha,
Monolake,
K-Klass,
Aloha Tigers,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Sound,
Thompson Twins,
Mad Mike,
Fugazi, Fugazi, Fugazi, Fugazi.
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.