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 Georgia and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Lewis show in Vancouver.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the marimba 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 The Gladiators to the rap kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme. All the underground hits.
All The Sound tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Supertramp 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a DNA record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
China Crisis,
Sun Ra,
The Shadows of Knight,
Arthur Verocai,
ABBA,
Underground Resistance,
Ken Boothe,
Throbbing Gristle,
Gang Starr,
The Monochrome Set,
Joey Negro,
the Association,
Technova,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Robert Hood,
Henry Cow,
Kevin Saunderson,
Man Parrish,
Nation of Ulysses,
Guru Guru,
Andrew Hill,
Donald Byrd,
The Mighty Diamonds,
La Düsseldorf,
Sun City Girls,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Sällskapet,
The Real Kids,
Kaleidoscope,
Grey Daturas,
Masters at Work,
the Swans,
Lalann,
Spoonie Gee,
Aloha Tigers,
48th St. Collective,
Royal Trux,
Wally Richardson,
ABC,
Patti Smith,
Livin' Joy,
The Gun Club,
The Music Machine,
The J.B.'s,
Soft Machine,
The Five Americans,
Blossom Toes,
Flash Fearless,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Anakelly,
Excepter,
Jeru the Damaja,
Los Fastidios,
Steve Hackett,
Fatback Band,
Chrome,
Glenn Branca,
Joe Smooth,
Jeff Lynne, Jeff Lynne, Jeff Lynne, Jeff Lynne.
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.