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 Guinea and from London.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the marimba 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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch to the grunge kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Pretty Things. All the underground hits.
All Beasts of Bourbon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Harry Pussy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Traffic Nightmare record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Minny Pops,
Section 25,
10cc,
Tommy Roe,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Terrestrial Tones,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Victims,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Frankie Knuckles,
Kas Product,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Moleskins,
Chris & Cosey,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Bauhaus,
ABC,
Surgeon,
Connie Case,
Rufus Thomas,
48th St. Collective,
Lyres,
The Skatalites,
Lungfish,
Visage,
LL Cool J,
the Fania All-Stars,
Joy Division,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Funkadelic,
Little Man,
The Saints,
Pierre Henry,
Joyce Sims,
Bang On A Can,
Black Flag,
Radio Birdman,
Crooked Eye,
Circle Jerks,
Infiniti,
The Pop Group,
Isaac Hayes,
the Swans,
The Litter,
Alton Ellis,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Popol Vuh,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Simply Red,
The Walker Brothers,
Scott Walker,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Cheater Slicks,
Reagan Youth,
Subhumans,
Pulsallama,
Max Romeo,
Radiohead,
Sex Pistols,
DJ Sneak,
Hot Snakes,
Oppenheimer Analysis, Oppenheimer Analysis, Oppenheimer Analysis, Oppenheimer Analysis.
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.