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 Serbia and from Manchester.
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 Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 Chic practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Modern Lovers to the techno kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Fortunes. All the underground hits.
All Graham Central Station tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Camberwell Now record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fort Wilson Riot record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Buckinghams,
Hot Snakes,
Roger Hodgson,
AZ,
Graham Central Station,
Au Pairs,
The Music Machine,
Big Daddy Kane,
Funkadelic,
Stetsasonic,
PIL,
the Association,
Barbara Tucker,
Sam Rivers,
Brass Construction,
Bad Manners,
Babytalk,
Rites of Spring,
Easy Going,
Barclay James Harvest,
Ponytail,
The Trojans,
Sparks,
Guru Guru,
Los Fastidios,
Organ,
K-Klass,
Kaleidoscope,
X-Ray Spex,
Todd Terry,
Negative Approach,
Subhumans,
JFA,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Leaves,
Black Pus,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Groovy Waters,
Franke,
Heaven 17,
E-Dancer,
The Evens,
Tres Demented,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
OOIOO,
Blake Baxter,
Al Stewart,
Moss Icon,
John Holt,
Wire,
The Barracudas,
The Selecter,
Unwound,
Sound Behaviour,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Tomorrow,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Rhythm & Sound,
Rosa Yemen, Rosa Yemen, Rosa Yemen, Rosa Yemen.
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.