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 Luxembourg and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Porter Ricks to the grunge 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 Roxy Music. All the underground hits.
All Man Eating Sloth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ituana 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 808 and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Graham Central Station record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lou Reed,
Sexual Harrassment,
Pole,
Eurythmics,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Selecter,
Johnny Clarke,
Boogie Down Productions,
Sun Ra,
Minny Pops,
Blancmange,
Dead Boys,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Absolute Body Control,
Wolf Eyes,
Inner City,
Marcia Griffiths,
Masters at Work,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The New Christs,
Cheater Slicks,
CMW,
Ronan,
The Five Americans,
FM Einheit,
Laurel Aitken,
Chris & Cosey,
Lightning Bolt,
Stereo Dub,
The Techniques,
Roger Hodgson,
Donny Hathaway,
B.T. Express,
Suicide,
Khruangbin,
Skaos,
the Human League,
Silicon Teens,
Roxy Music,
The Dead C,
the Germs,
Todd Rundgren,
Fugazi,
Dorothy Ashby,
Urselle,
The Stooges,
Porter Ricks,
Zero Boys,
Vainqueur,
Chrome,
The Pretty Things,
Massinfluence,
Robert Hood,
Bobby Byrd,
The Gories,
the Soft Cell,
Clear Light,
Ponytail,
Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon,
The Cure, The Cure, The Cure, The Cure.
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.