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 Turkey and from Stockholm.
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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 arpeggiator 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 Tres Demented to the techno kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Letta Mbulu. All the underground hits.
All Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Sound record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 rhodes and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Alarm Clocks,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Kerri Chandler,
Angry Samoans,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Average White Band,
Bill Near,
The Tremeloes,
F. McDonald,
Stereo Dub,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Vainqueur,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Scan 7,
Rosa Yemen,
Banda Bassotti,
Fear,
John Holt,
Ituana,
Agent Orange,
Steve Hackett,
Eric Dolphy,
Guru Guru,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Index,
Crooked Eye,
Carl Craig,
The Cowsills,
Intrusion,
Hasil Adkins,
Faraquet,
Graham Central Station,
PIL,
This Heat,
Junior Murvin,
The Fortunes,
Camouflage,
David Bowie,
The J.B.'s,
Albert Ayler,
Quadrant,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Marmalade,
The Gladiators,
Wire,
Radio Birdman,
Connie Case,
Tim Buckley,
Soul Sonic Force,
Organ,
Rapeman,
Cameo,
Black Pus,
Alison Limerick,
Brand Nubian,
X-Ray Spex,
Skriet,
Lyres,
The Birthday Party,
The Buckinghams,
David Axelrod,
Hoover,
Young Marble Giants, Young Marble Giants, Young Marble Giants, Young Marble Giants.
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.