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 Panama and from Columbus.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the snare 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 Oppenheimer Analysis to the rock 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 Pantytec. All the underground hits.
All The Saints tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Das Ding record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 an oboe and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crispian St. Peters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Howard Jones,
Crispian St. Peters,
Laurel Aitken,
The Neon Judgement,
The Selecter,
Ultra Naté,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Jacques Brel,
One Last Wish,
The American Breed,
The Leaves,
Robert Görl,
Desert Stars,
Fad Gadget,
Graham Central Station,
Bootsy Collins,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Wolf Eyes,
Absolute Body Control,
The Moody Blues,
Gerry Rafferty,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Altered Images,
Blake Baxter,
Funky Four + One,
Rufus Thomas,
Maleditus Sound,
Television Personalities,
Vladislav Delay,
Bush Tetras,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Visage,
Bill Near,
Skaos,
Harmonia,
Ten City,
Robert Wyatt,
The Vogues,
Alphaville,
Sparks,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Jacob Miller,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Colin Newman,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Move,
Arab on Radar,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Buckinghams,
Sex Pistols,
Soft Machine,
Scott Walker,
Radio Birdman,
Gang Starr,
Tomorrow,
The Seeds,
Index,
Sarah Menescal,
Pylon, Pylon, Pylon, Pylon.
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.