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 Czech Republic and from Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 Taipei and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 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 Bill Near to the rock 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 Quantec. All the underground hits.
All Hasil Adkins tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kenny Larkin record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Alarm Clocks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Mars,
Hot Snakes,
Ultra Naté,
Q65,
Suburban Knight,
Franke,
Sound Behaviour,
Ohio Players,
Alton Ellis,
Underground Resistance,
Amazonics,
Dave Gahan,
Gichy Dan,
Oblivians,
Bob Dylan,
Brick,
Matthew Bourne,
The Beau Brummels,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Groovy Waters,
Freddie Wadling,
Wolf Eyes,
Fat Boys,
Fad Gadget,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Amon Düül II,
Bauhaus,
Make Up,
Harmonia,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The J.B.'s,
World's Most,
Anthony Braxton,
The Red Krayola,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Misunderstood,
Mark Hollis,
The Fugs,
Sugar Minott,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Boredoms,
Subhumans,
Bluetip,
Fear,
T. Rex,
China Crisis,
Reagan Youth,
Soul II Soul,
The Martian,
Eli Mardock,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Fortunes,
Graham Central Station,
New Order,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
the Fania All-Stars,
Marc Almond,
The Doobie Brothers,
Blake Baxter,
The Remains,
Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas, Grey Daturas.
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.