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 Venezuela and from Hong Kong.
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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Milan.
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 1983 at the first Bronski Beat practice in a loft in Brixton.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Faust to the rap kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Camberwell Now. All the underground hits.
All Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every 8 Eyed Spy 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 synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Barbara Tucker record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Pretty Things,
Minny Pops,
Erasure,
The Real Kids,
The Invisible,
Eli Mardock,
These Immortal Souls,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Gories,
Mary Jane Girls,
Cecil Taylor,
The Busters,
Harmonia,
The Litter,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Ten City,
Roxette,
Ossler,
LL Cool J,
Procol Harum,
The New Christs,
Groovy Waters,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Judy Mowatt,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Cameo,
Anthony Braxton,
Scientists,
David McCallum,
Fugazi,
Rotary Connection,
The Star Department,
Pere Ubu,
Quantec,
The Misunderstood,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Nation of Ulysses,
Deadbeat,
Lucky Dragons,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
ABC,
Dorothy Ashby,
Tears for Fears,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Slackers,
Cluster,
Amon Düül,
Gastr Del Sol,
Minnie Riperton,
Smog,
The Pop Group,
Rapeman,
The Golliwogs,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Mo-Dettes,
Bill Near,
New Order,
Gang of Four,
The Vogues,
Section 25,
Unrelated Segments,
Lyres,
The Wake, The Wake, The Wake, The Wake.
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.