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 Afghanistan and from Bremen.
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 1963 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the theremin 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 Hasil Adkins to the electroclash 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 Wolf Eyes. All the underground hits.
All Eli Mardock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Moss Icon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk 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 808 and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Au Pairs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
F. McDonald,
Terry Callier,
John Foxx,
Al Stewart,
Lindisfarne,
Laurel Aitken,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Fat Boys,
Terrestrial Tones,
Sexual Harrassment,
Moby Grape,
The Mojo Men,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
T. Rex,
A Certain Ratio,
The Gap Band,
Eli Mardock,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Eve St. Jones,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Theoretical Girls,
David McCallum,
the Sonics,
Aloha Tigers,
Godley & Creme,
Pussy Galore,
Sandy B,
Bobby Womack,
Radiopuhelimet,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
The Fugs,
Siglo XX,
Average White Band,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Sonics,
Sonny Sharrock,
Organ,
Schoolly D,
Television Personalities,
Blossom Toes,
The Human League,
Angry Samoans,
Silicon Teens,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Juan Atkins,
The Toasters,
Anakelly,
Gang Gang Dance,
New York Dolls,
World's Most,
Brick,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Rapeman,
The Golliwogs,
The Saints,
Moss Icon,
Chris & Cosey,
DJ Style,
Absolute Body Control,
Clear Light,
Alphaville,
Black Moon, Black Moon, Black Moon, Black Moon.
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.