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 Syria and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1969 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Cairo.
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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the oboe 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 Khruangbin to the rock 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 Tim Buckley. All the underground hits.
All Warsaw tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Television record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a harpsichord 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 sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Walker Brothers,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Fear,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Sam Rivers,
The Standells,
Clear Light,
Derrick May,
The Five Americans,
Monks,
Q and Not U,
Spoonie Gee,
Letta Mbulu,
The Slits,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Suicide,
Blancmange,
Sex Pistols,
T. Rex,
Maleditus Sound,
Section 25,
Drive Like Jehu,
Matthew Bourne,
Half Japanese,
Los Fastidios,
Popol Vuh,
Mars,
Easy Going,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Maurizio,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
FM Einheit,
Darondo,
The Mummies,
The Associates,
Roger Hodgson,
The Velvet Underground,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Doobie Brothers,
Pagans,
The Grass Roots,
Severed Heads,
Terrestrial Tones,
Au Pairs,
L. Decosne,
Morten Harket,
Subhumans,
Hoover,
Animal Collective,
Roy Ayers,
Flamin' Groovies,
X-102,
Sun Ra,
The Monochrome Set,
Funky Four + One,
Mission of Burma,
Susan Cadogan,
The Neon Judgement,
Sällskapet,
Moby Grape,
Traffic Nightmare,
Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust, Saccharine Trust.
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.