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 Bhutan and from Glasgow.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Kool Moe Dee to the electroclash 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 The Martian. All the underground hits.
All Angry Samoans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sonic Youth 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Jerry Gold Smith record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Make Up,
Eve St. Jones,
Tim Buckley,
The Doobie Brothers,
Negative Approach,
Harmonia,
10cc,
The Blues Magoos,
The Smiths,
Monolake,
Deadbeat,
Outsiders,
The Sonics,
Niagra,
Jandek,
8 Eyed Spy,
Skriet,
Fluxion,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Maurizio,
The Evens,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Cameo,
Mary Jane Girls,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Rosa Yemen,
Johnny Osbourne,
Laurel Aitken,
Ossler,
Todd Rundgren,
Wasted Youth,
Tubeway Army,
The Flesh Eaters,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Jeru the Damaja,
Big Daddy Kane,
Rites of Spring,
The Fugs,
Cymande,
The Grass Roots,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Knickerbockers,
In Retrospect,
Half Japanese,
Ralphi Rosario,
Joensuu 1685,
The Buckinghams,
The Electric Prunes,
Arthur Verocai,
Tropical Tobacco,
Lungfish,
John Holt,
Ten City,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
Morten Harket,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Freddie Wadling,
Black Bananas,
Matthew Halsall,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Chrome,
Cluster, Cluster, Cluster, Cluster.
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.