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 Mexico and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Angels of Light & Akron/Family to the electroclash 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 Terrestrial Tones. All the underground hits.
All Eli Mardock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every John Holt record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a China Crisis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Thee Headcoats,
The Neon Judgement,
Pylon,
Inner City,
The Offenders,
Bauhaus,
Matthew Bourne,
The Red Krayola,
Q65,
Rufus Thomas,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
the Slits,
Ten City,
Godley & Creme,
Adolescents,
Ituana,
Tears for Fears,
Bobby Womack,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Dead C,
Grey Daturas,
Sex Pistols,
Wolf Eyes,
Yusef Lateef,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Joy Division,
The Evens,
Cal Tjader,
Black Pus,
Bizarre Inc.,
Althea and Donna,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Index,
Bush Tetras,
Sound Behaviour,
Cheater Slicks,
Anthony Braxton,
The Mojo Men,
LL Cool J,
The Names,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Walker Brothers,
FM Einheit,
Ludus,
Shoche,
Frankie Knuckles,
Gichy Dan,
The Cowsills,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Eyeless In Gaza,
PIL,
Joe Finger,
Cluster,
The Martian,
Bill Wells,
Grauzone,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Jacques Brel,
Aswad,
The Mummies,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Busters,
Terry Callier, Terry Callier, Terry Callier, Terry Callier.
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.