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 Nicaragua and from Edmonton.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the rhodes 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 Jeff Mills to the crunk 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 The Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All Lucky Dragons tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The American Breed record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fluxion record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bobby Byrd,
Gerry Rafferty,
Silicon Teens,
The Gories,
The Kinks,
EPMD,
June of 44,
Oneida,
Half Japanese,
Pulsallama,
Brick,
Nas,
Rapeman,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Trojans,
Darondo,
Agent Orange,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
MDC,
The Happenings,
Boogie Down Productions,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Jesper Dahlback,
Ronan,
Visage,
The Busters,
Infiniti,
Arcadia,
Slave,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Thee Headcoats,
Albert Ayler,
E-Dancer,
Malaria!,
Cheater Slicks,
Tom Boy,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Cure,
Gastr Del Sol,
Jeff Lynne,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Golliwogs,
Tommy Roe,
Qualms,
Spandau Ballet,
Dave Gahan,
Scan 7,
The Moleskins,
Toni Rubio,
KRS-One,
The Martian,
Yellowson,
Eric Copeland,
Lyres,
T. Rex,
Livin' Joy,
The Shadows of Knight,
Kas Product,
Marc Almond,
Lou Christie,
Godley & Creme,
Unwound,
Tubeway Army,
Shuggie Otis, Shuggie Otis, Shuggie Otis, Shuggie Otis.
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.