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 Taiwan and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Man Eating Sloth to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Ultimate Spinach. All the underground hits.
All The Litter tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every It's A Beautiful Day record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The J.B.'s record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Lucky Dragons,
Shoche,
The Fire Engines,
Pantytec,
The Trojans,
the Slits,
Pantaleimon,
Dead Boys,
PIL,
Malaria!,
Hoover,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Terry Callier,
Sugar Minott,
Joe Finger,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Associates,
Gang Gang Dance,
Bob Dylan,
John Cale,
Ornette Coleman,
Byron Stingily,
Tubeway Army,
Loose Ends,
Porter Ricks,
Tim Buckley,
Wire,
Mission of Burma,
Underground Resistance,
Lindisfarne,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Neu!,
The Monochrome Set,
John Coltrane,
Isaac Hayes,
Roger Hodgson,
Q and Not U,
Harry Pussy,
Aswad,
Blancmange,
Sun Ra,
The Mummies,
Barry Ungar,
Rod Modell,
Graham Central Station,
Scion,
The Offenders,
ABBA,
Inner City,
Tommy Roe,
Shuggie Otis,
Alphaville,
The Young Rascals,
Matthew Bourne,
Traffic Nightmare,
Scientists,
Connie Case,
Icehouse,
DNA,
Robert Görl,
Aural Exciters,
Eddi Front,
Pole,
Niagra, Niagra, Niagra, Niagra.
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.