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 Luxembourg and from Manchester.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the sitar 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 The Fuzztones to the funk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Eyeless In Gaza. All the underground hits.
All Mo-Dettes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Circle Jerks 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Country Joe & The Fish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pole,
the Germs,
Bluetip,
Smog,
Darondo,
B.T. Express,
Thee Headcoats,
Ken Boothe,
Swans,
Boredoms,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Skatalites,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Charles Mingus,
Parry Music,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Funkadelic,
T.S.O.L.,
Johnny Osbourne,
Lucky Dragons,
Easy Going,
Moebius,
Don Cherry,
Mad Mike,
Crispian St. Peters,
Tears for Fears,
Arab on Radar,
These Immortal Souls,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Jimmy McGriff,
Jacques Brel,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Symarip,
The Selecter,
Y Pants,
Radiopuhelimet,
Dennis Brown,
Newcleus,
Lee Hazlewood,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Raincoats,
Young Marble Giants,
The Music Machine,
Babytalk,
Grey Daturas,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
MDC,
Icehouse,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Lightning Bolt,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Echospace,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Sonny Sharrock,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
New York Dolls,
Ponytail,
Urselle,
Drive Like Jehu,
Mr. Review,
the Normal,
Reagan Youth,
Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow.
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.