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 Guatemala 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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the güiro sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Throbbing Gristle to the punk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Bar-Kays. All the underground hits.
All Lizzy Mercier Descloux tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jacob Miller 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dorothy Ashby record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Detroit Cobras,
H. Thieme,
Gabor Szabo,
The Dirtbombs,
Gang Gang Dance,
The Walker Brothers,
Royal Trux,
Clear Light,
Harry Pussy,
The Pretty Things,
Henry Cow,
Cameo,
The Slits,
the Normal,
Sexual Harrassment,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Second Layer,
Inner City,
Big Daddy Kane,
Arab on Radar,
R.M.O.,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Peter and Kerry,
The Moleskins,
Steve Hackett,
Flipper,
The Raincoats,
Fela Kuti,
The Five Americans,
Bronski Beat,
the Soft Cell,
Sister Nancy,
John Foxx,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Soulsonic Force,
Procol Harum,
Siglo XX,
Banda Bassotti,
David McCallum,
The Young Rascals,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
Half Japanese,
Saccharine Trust,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Gap Band,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Blancmange,
Pantytec,
T. Rex,
Black Flag,
Kas Product,
Deepchord,
Junior Murvin,
Model 500,
Johnny Osbourne,
Maleditus Sound,
Scrapy,
Bobby Byrd,
Scan 7,
The Velvet Underground,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Erasure,
Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones, Terrestrial Tones.
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.