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 Uganda and from Sao Paulo.
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 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin 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 Isaac Hayes to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 The Divine Comedy. All the underground hits.
All Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Blues Magoos record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Human League record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tim Buckley,
The Standells,
Gang of Four,
Cluster,
The Kinks,
The Beau Brummels,
Kayak,
Letta Mbulu,
the Slits,
Sound Behaviour,
Lee Hazlewood,
Curtis Mayfield,
T. Rex,
Robert Wyatt,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
A Certain Ratio,
The Raincoats,
Connie Case,
Roy Ayers,
Traffic Nightmare,
Skaos,
Ultravox,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Easy Going,
Sexual Harrassment,
Mandrill,
Tears for Fears,
Sam Rivers,
This Heat,
Sonic Youth,
The Misunderstood,
Erykah Badu,
Davy DMX,
Heaven 17,
ABBA,
Iggy Pop,
Subhumans,
Idris Muhammad,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Moby Grape,
Black Flag,
EPMD,
the Human League,
Sarah Menescal,
Dorothy Ashby,
ABC,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
The Golliwogs,
Eddi Front,
Robert Hood,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
H. Thieme,
Patti Smith,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Quando Quango,
Radiohead,
Pharoah Sanders,
Crime,
David McCallum,
Arcadia, Arcadia, Arcadia, Arcadia.
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.