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 Kosovo and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Houston and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Sandy B to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane. All the underground hits.
All Sun Ra Arkestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nas record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 a güiro and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jeff Lynne record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang Starr,
Yaz,
Bizarre Inc.,
Index,
Barclay James Harvest,
Unwound,
EPMD,
Kas Product,
Massinfluence,
The Searchers,
Eli Mardock,
Cal Tjader,
Lucky Dragons,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Moby Grape,
Jeff Mills,
Grey Daturas,
Livin' Joy,
Howard Jones,
Quando Quango,
Rakim,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Easy Going,
Judy Mowatt,
T. Rex,
KRS-One,
Roxette,
Public Enemy,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Mantronix,
Television,
Hot Snakes,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Angels of Light,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Fall,
Gichy Dan,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Country Teasers,
The Barracudas,
Robert Hood,
Soft Cell,
Jeru the Damaja,
E-Dancer,
Mandrill,
The Smoke,
David McCallum,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Evens,
Kaleidoscope,
Glenn Branca,
Ten City,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Residents,
Fat Boys,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Henry Cow,
Colin Newman,
Tomorrow,
Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich.
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.