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 Burkina and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 1963 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Hong Kong 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Eve St. Jones to the rap kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 New Order. All the underground hits.
All 8 Eyed Spy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Letta Mbulu record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Gun Club record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cabaret Voltaire,
Ronan,
The Flesh Eaters,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Bluetip,
The Human League,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
The Last Poets,
Mr. Review,
Avey Tare,
Eric B and Rakim,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Nick Fraelich,
Henry Cow,
Aaron Thompson,
Brothers Johnson,
Cymande,
These Immortal Souls,
MDC,
Minnie Riperton,
Radiopuhelimet,
Nas,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Standells,
Chris & Cosey,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Barclay James Harvest,
Dave Gahan,
Vainqueur,
The Stooges,
Matthew Halsall,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Wally Richardson,
Arthur Verocai,
Sexual Harrassment,
Todd Rundgren,
Loose Ends,
KRS-One,
EPMD,
Donny Hathaway,
The Cramps,
D'Angelo,
Von Mondo,
Pantytec,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Fela Kuti,
The Dirtbombs,
Amon Düül,
Lindisfarne,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
June Days,
Malaria!,
The Slackers,
The Wake,
Black Pus,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Radio Birdman,
The Zeros,
Mark Hollis,
Panda Bear,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Pretty Things, The Pretty Things, The Pretty Things, The Pretty Things.
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.