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 Cuba and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Harry Pussy to the funk 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 Ultimate Spinach. All the underground hits.
All Terrestrial Tones tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Slave 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
X-102,
Howard Jones,
John Foxx,
Newcleus,
Tomorrow,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Nirvana,
Section 25,
Roy Ayers,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Surgeon,
Barbara Tucker,
Alice Coltrane,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Tropical Tobacco,
Niagra,
The Smoke,
The Leaves,
Rod Modell,
Blancmange,
Gang Starr,
Ken Boothe,
The Gladiators,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Monks,
Lower 48,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Liliput,
Grandmaster Flash,
The Count Five,
Hardrive,
La Düsseldorf,
Aaron Thompson,
Babytalk,
Panda Bear,
Fela Kuti,
Gil Scott Heron,
Jeru the Damaja,
R.M.O.,
Bob Dylan,
B.T. Express,
the Germs,
kango's stein massive,
Qualms,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Charles Mingus,
Lebanon Hanover,
Marc Almond,
Bauhaus,
Drive Like Jehu,
EPMD,
Mr. Review,
Jesper Dahlback,
Pussy Galore,
The Golliwogs,
Sarah Menescal,
Maurizio,
Electric Prunes,
Eli Mardock,
Dark Day,
Dennis Brown,
Morten Harket,
Von Mondo,
Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily.
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.