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 Greece and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1962 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1987 at the first Nirvana practice in a loft in Seattle.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Raincoats. All the underground hits.
All Crash Course in Science tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tubeway Army 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Symarip record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Byron Stingily,
Moebius,
The Moody Blues,
Anakelly,
The Offenders,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Flesh Eaters,
Franke,
Sexual Harrassment,
Bootsy Collins,
The Cure,
Oneida,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Ronan,
Gang of Four,
Panda Bear,
Alphaville,
Fatback Band,
The Invisible,
Magazine,
Terry Callier,
DNA,
Neu!,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
John Foxx,
The Star Department,
Kaleidoscope,
Crispy Ambulance,
Flash Fearless,
The Angels of Light,
Dawn Penn,
Nirvana,
Skriet,
Procol Harum,
Trumans Water,
The Barracudas,
Porter Ricks,
Susan Cadogan,
Glambeats Corp.,
Chris & Cosey,
10cc,
Marmalade,
Henry Cow,
The Seeds,
Zapp,
Scion,
Mandrill,
Swell Maps,
The Fall,
The Pop Group,
the Bar-Kays,
Stetsasonic,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Radiohead,
Rekid,
The Red Krayola,
Stereo Dub,
Hasil Adkins,
Gang Green,
Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond, Marc Almond.
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.