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 New Zealand and from Cairo.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 Josef K practice in a loft in Edinburgh.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Mo-Dettes to the disco 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 Crispy Ambulance. All the underground hits.
All Leonard Cohen tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Invisible record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Man Eating Sloth,
Funkadelic,
Dead Boys,
Stiv Bators,
Talk Talk,
China Crisis,
Robert Hood,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Black Pus,
Con Funk Shun,
June Days,
Johnny Osbourne,
Quadrant,
Don Cherry,
Throbbing Gristle,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Hot Snakes,
The Doors,
The Skatalites,
Subhumans,
the Human League,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
8 Eyed Spy,
Jeru the Damaja,
Laurel Aitken,
Kerrie Biddell,
Wire,
Section 25,
Letta Mbulu,
Hoover,
DJ Style,
Henry Cow,
Kenny Larkin,
Harpers Bizarre,
Dave Gahan,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Slick Rick,
Hashim,
Mary Jane Girls,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Jerry's Kids,
The New Christs,
Joensuu 1685,
Peter and Kerry,
Skriet,
Chris Corsano,
F. McDonald,
Sixth Finger,
Monolake,
Pet Shop Boys,
Terrestrial Tones,
The Wake,
Joyce Sims,
Girls At Our Best!,
Intrusion,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Graham Central Station,
The Motions,
Nick Fraelich,
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.