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 Indonesia and from Toronto.
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 1965 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the güiro 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 Scan 7 to the grime kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Peanut Butter Conspiracy. All the underground hits.
All Justin Hinds & The Dominoes tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Glambeats Corp. 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Guru Guru record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Busters,
Stetsasonic,
AZ,
Carl Craig,
Parry Music,
Lindisfarne,
Henry Cow,
Goldenarms,
The Dirtbombs,
Quantec,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Saints,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Aloha Tigers,
The Last Poets,
B.T. Express,
Lightning Bolt,
The Happenings,
John Cale,
Magazine,
Grandmaster Flash,
the Slits,
Juan Atkins,
Arab on Radar,
Y Pants,
Infiniti,
Severed Heads,
Model 500,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Das Ding,
The Wake,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Mars,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Boredoms,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Howard Jones,
Minnie Riperton,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Urselle,
One Last Wish,
Aural Exciters,
Graham Central Station,
Joy Division,
Funky Four + One,
Jeff Mills,
Hashim,
The Toasters,
Janne Schatter,
Clear Light,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Simply Red,
These Immortal Souls,
Mantronix,
Traffic Nightmare,
the Association,
Johnny Osbourne,
Bobby Womack,
Hardrive,
Pantaleimon,
Cluster,
Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks.
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.