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 Belgium and from Taipei.
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 1961 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Cramps to the funk 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 Alarm Clocks. All the underground hits.
All Kool G Rap & DJ Polo tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Flesh Eaters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 chamberlin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Starr record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Procol Harum,
Cybotron,
The Skatalites,
Ultravox,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Doors,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
X-102,
Dave Gahan,
Joe Smooth,
Crooked Eye,
Janne Schatter,
Avey Tare,
Judy Mowatt,
the Bar-Kays,
Mars,
Arab on Radar,
Tommy Roe,
Steve Hackett,
The Blackbyrds,
Man Eating Sloth,
Morten Harket,
Severed Heads,
X-Ray Spex,
8 Eyed Spy,
Popol Vuh,
Fad Gadget,
The Mummies,
Chrome,
Saccharine Trust,
Banda Bassotti,
Soul Sonic Force,
Eli Mardock,
Wolf Eyes,
The Index,
Newcleus,
Cluster,
Black Bananas,
Scott Walker,
Eden Ahbez,
Outsiders,
The J.B.'s,
Sandy B,
Tom Boy,
Bobby Womack,
Patti Smith,
Archie Shepp,
H. Thieme,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Beau Brummels,
Ponytail,
The Electric Prunes,
Kas Product,
the Association,
Reuben Wilson,
Maurizio,
The Offenders,
Angry Samoans,
Mantronix,
T.S.O.L., T.S.O.L., T.S.O.L., T.S.O.L..
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.