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 Singapore and from Manila.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Beau Brummels to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Barbara Tucker. All the underground hits.
All Buzzcocks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every London Community Gospel Choir record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 guitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mad Mike record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an oboe.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
PIL,
Kaleidoscope,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Dead C,
Suicide,
Fela Kuti,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Sam Rivers,
Rufus Thomas,
Jeff Lynne,
Theoretical Girls,
U.S. Maple,
Tim Buckley,
The Blackbyrds,
Howard Jones,
Todd Terry,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
The Black Dice,
Icehouse,
Nik Kershaw,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Buckinghams,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Dark Day,
Altered Images,
Fatback Band,
Juan Atkins,
The Gun Club,
Newcleus,
Organ,
Ralphi Rosario,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Radiohead,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
the Slits,
Jeru the Damaja,
Sonic Youth,
Kool Moe Dee,
Nico,
the Fania All-Stars,
Josef K,
Matthew Halsall,
Heaven 17,
Letta Mbulu,
Mr. Review,
Ponytail,
Ultra Naté,
X-101,
F. McDonald,
Circle Jerks,
Slave,
Second Layer,
Boz Scaggs,
Pharoah Sanders,
Oneida,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Rites of Spring, Rites of Spring, Rites of Spring, Rites of Spring.
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.