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 Mauritania and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1961 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 harpsichord 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 The Fortunes to the disco 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 Pussy Galore. All the underground hits.
All The Mummies tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every H. Thieme record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pulsallama record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fall,
Terry Callier,
The Birthday Party,
Bauhaus,
Suicide,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Pretty Things,
The Slackers,
Anakelly,
The Dirtbombs,
The Cure,
The Names,
Wire,
Piero Umiliani,
Yellowson,
Soft Machine,
Mark Hollis,
The Evens,
Ituana,
Theoretical Girls,
Lungfish,
Colin Newman,
Alice Coltrane,
The Litter,
Kenny Larkin,
Neil Young,
Ronnie Foster,
Scrapy,
Heaven 17,
Agitation Free,
Tommy Roe,
Grauzone,
Dark Day,
Ken Boothe,
Nico,
Man Eating Sloth,
Rapeman,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Mantronix,
Siglo XX,
Half Japanese,
Public Enemy,
Sound Behaviour,
Hardrive,
Barbara Tucker,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Eli Mardock,
The United States of America,
The Gories,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Bootsy Collins,
The Sonics,
Judy Mowatt,
Qualms,
Arcadia,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Amon Düül II,
Organ,
Infiniti,
China Crisis,
The Invisible,
Simply Red, Simply Red, Simply Red, Simply Red.
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.