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 Mauritius and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 sitar 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 Throbbing Gristle to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band. All the underground hits.
All Warsaw tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Au Pairs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 theremin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fatback Band,
Darondo,
Guru Guru,
Arcadia,
June Days,
Al Stewart,
F. McDonald,
Pere Ubu,
Josef K,
The Mummies,
Accadde A,
Roy Ayers,
Marcia Griffiths,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Stiv Bators,
The Cure,
Ossler,
Mandrill,
Rites of Spring,
Ituana,
Lungfish,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Human League,
Bobby Sherman,
Rekid,
Dual Sessions,
Black Bananas,
John Coltrane,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Swell Maps,
Shoche,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Harpers Bizarre,
Trumans Water,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Barbara Tucker,
Agitation Free,
Curtis Mayfield,
Nirvana,
Sandy B,
Marc Almond,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Moleskins,
Crispy Ambulance,
Franke,
Silicon Teens,
Brothers Johnson,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Blossom Toes,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Von Mondo,
La Düsseldorf,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Evens,
The Modern Lovers,
MDC,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Zero Boys,
Mars,
Man Eating Sloth, Man Eating Sloth, Man Eating Sloth, Man Eating Sloth.
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.