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 Spain and from Houston.
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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Sao Paulo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Depeche Mode to the electroclash 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 Bluetip. All the underground hits.
All Eyeless In Gaza tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Joyce Sims record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gong record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Raincoats,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Pretty Things,
The Neon Judgement,
Altered Images,
Sixth Finger,
Dawn Penn,
Los Fastidios,
Gong,
Mr. Review,
Max Romeo,
Wire,
Quadrant,
Eli Mardock,
Steve Hackett,
Tubeway Army,
Alphaville,
Tim Buckley,
Marmalade,
The Wake,
Intrusion,
Sister Nancy,
The Residents,
Gastr Del Sol,
Desert Stars,
The Star Department,
Donald Byrd,
Absolute Body Control,
A Certain Ratio,
Throbbing Gristle,
Sandy B,
Connie Case,
Rhythm & Sound,
Maurizio,
Thee Headcoats,
The Dead C,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Wally Richardson,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Siglo XX,
The Mummies,
The Evens,
Lee Hazlewood,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Skatalites,
Schoolly D,
The Remains,
The Divine Comedy,
The Litter,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Animal Collective,
Saccharine Trust,
Charles Mingus,
Derrick May,
Make Up,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
the Swans,
Black Sheep,
The Red Krayola,
Thompson Twins,
The Young Rascals,
John Foxx,
Scientists,
Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes, Hot Snakes.
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.