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 Djibouti 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 Sao Paulo and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Birthday Party 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 Hoover. All the underground hits.
All Interpol tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Boz Scaggs record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sister Nancy,
Y Pants,
John Lydon,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
A Flock of Seagulls,
the Soft Cell,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Hoover,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Sex Pistols,
Pole,
Fatback Band,
Drexciya,
Crime,
Television,
Unwound,
Flipper,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Q and Not U,
Nick Fraelich,
Kayak,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Nico,
Letta Mbulu,
Cal Tjader,
The Fortunes,
Boredoms,
Bluetip,
Bootsy Collins,
The Smoke,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Amazonics,
Nation of Ulysses,
Moby Grape,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Bob Dylan,
Ossler,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Bad Manners,
Rites of Spring,
Crispian St. Peters,
the Sonics,
Mr. Review,
Piero Umiliani,
The Selecter,
Pussy Galore,
Roxette,
Crash Course in Science,
Man Parrish,
Amon Düül II,
Fluxion,
Panda Bear,
Eric Copeland,
The Misunderstood,
Bush Tetras,
Rekid,
Thee Headcoats,
The Barracudas,
Talk Talk,
Rosa Yemen,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Aswad, Aswad, Aswad, Aswad.
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.