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 Cape Verde and from Madrid.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 arpeggiator 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 Essential Logic to the electroclash 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 Visage. All the underground hits.
All Mission of Burma tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jandek record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Neil Young record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
June Days,
Bobby Sherman,
The Golliwogs,
Can,
Fear,
Byron Stingily,
Prince Buster,
Unrelated Segments,
The Gories,
Ultra Naté,
Glambeats Corp.,
Vainqueur,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Rapeman,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Ornette Coleman,
Y Pants,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Bill Near,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Modern Lovers,
Cal Tjader,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Kinks,
Radiohead,
Harmonia,
Nick Fraelich,
Althea and Donna,
Soulsonic Force,
MDC,
The Moody Blues,
Skaos,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Index,
Chris & Cosey,
Mark Hollis,
Spandau Ballet,
Subhumans,
Grey Daturas,
F. McDonald,
Eric Copeland,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Morten Harket,
Lindisfarne,
Ultimate Spinach,
Black Moon,
Sarah Menescal,
The Names,
Ronan,
Boz Scaggs,
Ohio Players,
Suicide,
The Monks,
The Knickerbockers,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Pere Ubu,
The United States of America,
John Lydon,
The J.B.'s,
Ten City,
The Litter,
Rakim, Rakim, Rakim, Rakim.
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.