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 Georgia and from Lille.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the organ 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 It's A Beautiful Day to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Rahsaan Roland Kirk. All the underground hits.
All Junior Murvin tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Black Flag record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco 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 an arpeggiator and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Harry Pussy,
The Cramps,
Ossler,
Sexual Harrassment,
Television,
Dark Day,
Thee Headcoats,
the Germs,
John Lydon,
The Gun Club,
Leonard Cohen,
Laurel Aitken,
Lalann,
Crime,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Yazoo,
The Dave Clark Five,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
New Order,
Country Teasers,
Easy Going,
Piero Umiliani,
Saccharine Trust,
Gong,
Pylon,
Simply Red,
Pharoah Sanders,
Minny Pops,
The Happenings,
Sixth Finger,
Procol Harum,
X-102,
Maurizio,
Black Sheep,
Nas,
T. Rex,
Supertramp,
The Tremeloes,
Marmalade,
Masters at Work,
The Selecter,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Neil Young,
Stereo Dub,
Massinfluence,
Negative Approach,
Scan 7,
Ornette Coleman,
the Association,
John Coltrane,
Minor Threat,
The Gladiators,
Agent Orange,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Dirtbombs,
Franke,
Althea and Donna,
Theoretical Girls,
Chrome,
Wolf Eyes,
Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader, Cal Tjader.
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.