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 Liechtenstein and from Mexico City.
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 1962 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Marshall Jefferson to the punk 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 Smoke. All the underground hits.
All Strawberry Alarm Clock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lucky Dragons record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 clarinet and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mission of Burma record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Iggy Pop,
Mandrill,
Goldenarms,
Alton Ellis,
The Busters,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Drexciya,
Flipper,
Bobby Byrd,
Scion,
The American Breed,
The Mummies,
Man Eating Sloth,
Todd Terry,
Moss Icon,
Tomorrow,
Wally Richardson,
FM Einheit,
Ten City,
Isaac Hayes,
Wire,
The Vogues,
Stetsasonic,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Kurtis Blow,
The Count Five,
The Gories,
Eurythmics,
Stereo Dub,
Freddie Wadling,
The Doobie Brothers,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Jerry's Kids,
The Saints,
Unwound,
The United States of America,
The Victims,
Howard Jones,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Stooges,
The Barracudas,
Black Flag,
DNA,
Black Moon,
KRS-One,
Nick Fraelich,
The Selecter,
The Motions,
Ultravox,
Von Mondo,
Flash Fearless,
Shoche,
Neil Young,
Blake Baxter,
Henry Cow,
Eric Copeland,
Guru Guru,
Johnny Clarke,
Soul Sonic Force,
Subhumans,
Rosa Yemen,
Lou Reed,
Outsiders,
Eric Dolphy, Eric Dolphy, Eric Dolphy, Eric Dolphy.
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.