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 South Africa and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Hong Kong and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 harpsichord 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 Sonic Youth 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 The Motions. All the underground hits.
All Lindisfarne tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fort Wilson Riot record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge 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 spring reverb and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Martian record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Youth Brigade,
Boredoms,
Ultra Naté,
Brass Construction,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Mary Jane Girls,
Darondo,
Bush Tetras,
Sarah Menescal,
Traffic Nightmare,
Jacques Brel,
B.T. Express,
Avey Tare,
The Victims,
Outsiders,
The Neon Judgement,
Panda Bear,
The Kinks,
Zapp,
Bobby Byrd,
Zero Boys,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Subhumans,
Harry Pussy,
Lower 48,
The Cramps,
Robert Wyatt,
The Trojans,
Johnny Clarke,
Tears for Fears,
Eli Mardock,
Brick,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Intrusion,
Grey Daturas,
Suburban Knight,
Rekid,
The Leaves,
Inner City,
Derrick Morgan,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Modern Lovers,
Bauhaus,
Qualms,
Jawbox,
Malaria!,
The Grass Roots,
Toni Rubio,
Peter and Kerry,
Rites of Spring,
Camberwell Now,
Nils Olav,
Absolute Body Control,
Barrington Levy,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Circle Jerks,
Lee Hazlewood,
Swell Maps,
The American Breed,
Albert Ayler,
Magma,
Urselle,
Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow, Henry Cow.
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.