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 Namibia and from Mumbai.
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 1968 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Busters to the dance kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Average White Band. All the underground hits.
All Heaven 17 tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Flock of Seagulls record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 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 F. McDonald record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minutemen,
Amon Düül,
Sexual Harrassment,
Television,
Pantytec,
X-101,
The Trojans,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Detroit Cobras,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Mo-Dettes,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Animal Collective,
Kerri Chandler,
Eric B and Rakim,
Moby Grape,
Accadde A,
The Gories,
Judy Mowatt,
Byron Stingily,
Gabor Szabo,
Albert Ayler,
Fugazi,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Adolescents,
Patti Smith,
the Fania All-Stars,
Robert Hood,
Motorama,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Buzzcocks,
Morten Harket,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Cymande,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Drexciya,
Derrick Morgan,
The Human League,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Duran Duran,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Q and Not U,
Chrome,
Tropical Tobacco,
Eden Ahbez,
Lou Christie,
The Move,
Aaron Thompson,
The Durutti Column,
Piero Umiliani,
The Names,
Eric Dolphy,
The Beau Brummels,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Stockholm Monsters,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Bootsy Collins,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Unrelated Segments,
Porter Ricks,
Pylon,
Lee Hazlewood,
Marc Almond,
Pharoah Sanders,
Absolute Body Control, Absolute Body Control, Absolute Body Control, Absolute Body Control.
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.