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 Kyrgyzstan and from Lagos.
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 1960 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Roy Ayers to the funk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Negative Approach. All the underground hits.
All the Human League tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Glambeats Corp. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 808 and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Q65 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
X-Ray Spex,
Ice-T,
Neil Young,
Pulsallama,
Blake Baxter,
Bill Near,
Minny Pops,
The Litter,
Scan 7,
The Real Kids,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Victims,
Tubeway Army,
Quantec,
Monks,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Bizarre Inc.,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Angry Samoans,
Barbara Tucker,
Ken Boothe,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Beau Brummels,
Procol Harum,
Funkadelic,
David McCallum,
Duran Duran,
Jandek,
Marc Almond,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Radio Birdman,
Joe Smooth,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Archie Shepp,
The Fall,
Ornette Coleman,
Bill Wells,
Index,
K-Klass,
Slave,
Gerry Rafferty,
Toni Rubio,
Donald Byrd,
Joey Negro,
Robert Hood,
Lalann,
Lucky Dragons,
Average White Band,
Juan Atkins,
Eric B and Rakim,
Pantytec,
Girls At Our Best!,
Glenn Branca,
The Fugs,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Todd Terry,
Liliput,
Porter Ricks,
Tommy Roe,
Max Romeo,
The Blues Magoos,
Tom Boy,
Black Sheep,
Young Marble Giants, Young Marble Giants, Young Marble Giants, Young Marble Giants.
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.