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 Congo and from Lagos.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the güiro 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 Adolescents to the rap 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 Malaria!. All the underground hits.
All Electric Light Orchestra tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rhythim Is Rhythim record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Funky Four + One record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fatback Band,
Suburban Knight,
Vainqueur,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Cosmic Jokers,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Slackers,
Soul Sonic Force,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Last Poets,
Mars,
The Motions,
Jeff Lynne,
Pierre Henry,
Monks,
Ronan,
Moebius,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Saints,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Charles Mingus,
The Star Department,
K-Klass,
Flipper,
the Fania All-Stars,
KRS-One,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Blackbyrds,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Cheater Slicks,
Desert Stars,
Monolake,
Hasil Adkins,
Lyres,
The Red Krayola,
Magazine,
Nas,
Depeche Mode,
the Human League,
Tommy Roe,
D'Angelo,
Brothers Johnson,
Main Source,
Rites of Spring,
Graham Central Station,
Section 25,
The Durutti Column,
The Searchers,
Lower 48,
Kerri Chandler,
Anakelly,
These Immortal Souls,
Ken Boothe,
The Barracudas,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Derrick Morgan,
Severed Heads,
L. Decosne,
Wire, Wire, Wire, Wire.
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.