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 Ivory Coast and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 Houston and Mumbai.
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 David Bowie 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 Sugar Minott to the techno 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 E-Dancer. All the underground hits.
All Rosa Yemen tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Tremeloes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
The Music Machine,
Wings,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Scratch Acid,
Amon Düül,
The Alarm Clocks,
Faust,
Shuggie Otis,
Harry Pussy,
Hasil Adkins,
Bobby Byrd,
Gastr Del Sol,
Mission of Burma,
Half Japanese,
The Golliwogs,
Groovy Waters,
The Five Americans,
The Searchers,
Theoretical Girls,
Bronski Beat,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Standells,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Surgeon,
The Smiths,
Traffic Nightmare,
Pantytec,
Suburban Knight,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Bill Wells,
Talk Talk,
The Beau Brummels,
Visage,
The Saints,
Porter Ricks,
Tim Buckley,
Marcia Griffiths,
Skarface,
Sexual Harrassment,
Monolake,
The Raincoats,
Shoche,
MDC,
Banda Bassotti,
Ronnie Foster,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Crooked Eye,
Bush Tetras,
Pole,
The Slits,
Nico,
Althea and Donna,
The Monks,
Todd Rundgren,
Buzzcocks,
the Germs,
Negative Approach,
The Gories,
Rotary Connection,
Marine Girls,
Fort Wilson Riot, Fort Wilson Riot, Fort Wilson Riot, Fort Wilson Riot.
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.