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 Pakistan and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 synthesizer 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 The Cure to the dance kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Franke. All the underground hits.
All Robert Hood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arthur Verocai 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
X-101,
Mo-Dettes,
Basic Channel,
The American Breed,
Traffic Nightmare,
Camouflage,
The Red Krayola,
Ornette Coleman,
Easy Going,
Tim Buckley,
Supertramp,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Dark Day,
The Associates,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Human League,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Steve Hackett,
Lalann,
Tom Boy,
Buzzcocks,
Zero Boys,
Ponytail,
Rod Modell,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Ohio Players,
Lyres,
Todd Rundgren,
June Days,
Derrick Morgan,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Misunderstood,
Stereo Dub,
Carl Craig,
Sonic Youth,
Jeru the Damaja,
Eurythmics,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Judy Mowatt,
Urselle,
Eric Copeland,
L. Decosne,
The Pop Group,
Letta Mbulu,
Ultimate Spinach,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Ralphi Rosario,
June of 44,
Swans,
H. Thieme,
Inner City,
EPMD,
Soft Cell,
Roger Hodgson,
Metal Thangz,
Lalo Schifrin,
Saccharine Trust,
Dennis Brown,
The Saints,
Excepter,
Wire, Wire, Wire, Wire.
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.