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 Marshall Islands and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 güiro 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 Freddie Wadling to the rap 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 Talk Talk. All the underground hits.
All Lyres tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 marimba and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Wire record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Roy Ayers,
Avey Tare,
Janne Schatter,
Roxette,
The Dirtbombs,
The Cramps,
Hasil Adkins,
Excepter,
The Techniques,
The Neon Judgement,
Con Funk Shun,
Scientists,
Harpers Bizarre,
The Busters,
Marc Almond,
Mandrill,
Prince Buster,
KRS-One,
Magazine,
Cybotron,
Slave,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Talk Talk,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Todd Rundgren,
Gong,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Al Stewart,
Lalo Schifrin,
Robert Görl,
Spandau Ballet,
Reuben Wilson,
Ronan,
The Walker Brothers,
Hoover,
Ultimate Spinach,
Iggy Pop,
Andrew Hill,
The Sonics,
Quantec,
Warren Ellis,
Main Source,
Lucky Dragons,
Television,
AZ,
Oneida,
Idris Muhammad,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Suicide,
The J.B.'s,
Wings,
Sexual Harrassment,
Fatback Band,
Terrestrial Tones,
Boz Scaggs,
The Doors,
Chrome,
Angry Samoans,
Bootsy Collins,
Eric Dolphy,
The Slits,
Make Up, Make Up, Make Up, Make Up.
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.