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 Cyprus and from Hong Kong.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 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 Pantytec to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Steve Hackett. All the underground hits.
All Liaisons Dangereuses tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Blues Magoos 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Alphaville record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Beau Brummels,
T.S.O.L.,
Mr. Review,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Black Moon,
The Modern Lovers,
Parry Music,
Eve St. Jones,
Bush Tetras,
Roger Hodgson,
Y Pants,
The Seeds,
Kevin Saunderson,
Amazonics,
Sixth Finger,
Das Ding,
a-ha,
Cymande,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Roxy Music,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Ornette Coleman,
Sonny Sharrock,
Skaos,
Oblivians,
The Move,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Misunderstood,
Pharoah Sanders,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
June of 44,
Rapeman,
The Walker Brothers,
Basic Channel,
DNA,
Isaac Hayes,
Archie Shepp,
Neil Young,
Be Bop Deluxe,
New York Dolls,
Siglo XX,
Shuggie Otis,
Ossler,
The Dead C,
The Associates,
The Black Dice,
Lyres,
Livin' Joy,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Lakeside,
Kurtis Blow,
The Music Machine,
The Gun Club,
Gastr Del Sol,
X-Ray Spex,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
The Smiths,
Youth Brigade,
The American Breed,
Amon Düül, Amon Düül, Amon Düül, Amon Düül.
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.