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 Nauru and from Seoul.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the marimba 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 The Doobie Brothers to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Zeros. All the underground hits.
All Marshall Jefferson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Donald Byrd record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 harpsichord and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Barrington Levy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare 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 Monks,
Gong,
Rosa Yemen,
Infiniti,
New York Dolls,
Beasts of Bourbon,
the Slits,
The Human League,
Soul II Soul,
Glambeats Corp.,
the Swans,
Connie Case,
Electric Prunes,
Crime,
Minutemen,
Saccharine Trust,
The Index,
Bronski Beat,
Shuggie Otis,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Con Funk Shun,
Ronnie Foster,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Martian,
This Heat,
Nils Olav,
Robert Wyatt,
Sixth Finger,
The Seeds,
Von Mondo,
Derrick Morgan,
Fela Kuti,
The Black Dice,
Bootsy Collins,
Jimmy McGriff,
The Cure,
Malaria!,
Jandek,
Quadrant,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
X-101,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Lalann,
The Doors,
Stockholm Monsters,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Blancmange,
Jacques Brel,
Kurtis Blow,
Buzzcocks,
Mantronix,
Andrew Hill,
the Normal,
New Order,
Chris Corsano,
John Lydon,
The Five Americans,
Traffic Nightmare,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Litter,
Icehouse,
Q and Not U,
Y Pants,
Roger Hodgson, Roger Hodgson, Roger Hodgson, Roger Hodgson.
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.