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 Malawi and from Lagos.
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 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Bremen.
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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar 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 The Vogues to the rap 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 Donald Byrd. All the underground hits.
All Fugazi tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Heaven 17 record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fugazi record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fugs,
June Days,
Tubeway Army,
Depeche Mode,
The Techniques,
Nils Olav,
the Human League,
Icehouse,
Surgeon,
Nas,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Zero Boys,
Public Image Ltd.,
ABC,
The Invisible,
Jeru the Damaja,
Kerri Chandler,
Wire,
Brick,
Quantec,
The Mummies,
Althea and Donna,
Trumans Water,
Patti Smith,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Pet Shop Boys,
Hot Snakes,
Crime,
Jeff Mills,
Black Flag,
Goldenarms,
Mad Mike,
The Gap Band,
In Retrospect,
Porter Ricks,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Red Krayola,
Neu!,
The Fall,
Graham Central Station,
The Mojo Men,
Barrington Levy,
The Detroit Cobras,
Arcadia,
ABBA,
Isaac Hayes,
Stetsasonic,
Neil Young,
A Certain Ratio,
Gang Starr,
K-Klass,
Basic Channel,
Deadbeat,
The Blues Magoos,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Smoke,
Reagan Youth,
Tim Buckley,
Judy Mowatt,
Wings, Wings, Wings, Wings.
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.