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 San Marino and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 oboe 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 Major Organ And The Adding Machine 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 Dead Boys. All the underground hits.
All Fifty Foot Hose tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Duran Duran 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a John Holt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suburban Knight,
Minnie Riperton,
The Fortunes,
Amon Düül II,
Fad Gadget,
The Victims,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Moss Icon,
the Germs,
The Barracudas,
John Foxx,
The Blackbyrds,
Ultravox,
Schoolly D,
Royal Trux,
FM Einheit,
The Zeros,
Flash Fearless,
Andrew Hill,
The Last Poets,
James White and The Blacks,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Black Dice,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Yellowson,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The J.B.'s,
Johnny Osbourne,
Pere Ubu,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Organ,
Avey Tare,
Cymande,
Yaz,
Magazine,
Eve St. Jones,
Visage,
Stiv Bators,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Anthony Braxton,
Kaleidoscope,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Aswad,
Scott Walker,
Eric Dolphy,
Cybotron,
Pylon,
Visionaries,LMNO, T- Love & Iriscience,
Cheater Slicks,
ABC,
Carl Craig,
The Detroit Cobras,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Loose Ends,
Nirvana,
Soft Machine, Soft Machine, Soft Machine, Soft Machine.
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.