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 Micronesia and from Beijing.
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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 Human League practice in a loft in Sheffield.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 The Moleskins to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Icehouse. All the underground hits.
All Deakin tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Fugazi record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 8 Eyed Spy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sister Nancy,
The Invisible,
Infiniti,
Wasted Youth,
Ultimate Spinach,
Eurythmics,
The Vogues,
Nico,
Chris Corsano,
Guru Guru,
Hardrive,
Pantytec,
Little Man,
Cameo,
8 Eyed Spy,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
La Düsseldorf,
Rapeman,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Leonard Cohen,
Tim Buckley,
U.S. Maple,
Terrestrial Tones,
Pet Shop Boys,
Toni Rubio,
Theoretical Girls,
Excepter,
Rites of Spring,
Warren Ellis,
The Fuzztones,
Can,
Quantec,
The Toasters,
B.T. Express,
Donny Hathaway,
The Young Rascals,
The Cramps,
Henry Cow,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Zeros,
The New Christs,
The Trojans,
Ten City,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Patti Smith,
The Black Dice,
Young Marble Giants,
Bluetip,
Kool Moe Dee,
Rekid,
Gang of Four,
Moss Icon,
Mars,
Youth Brigade,
Rakim,
Bootsy Collins,
Amon Düül II,
Junior Murvin,
Tubeway Army,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Sam Rivers,
Joe Finger,
The Litter,
The Saints, The Saints, The Saints, The Saints.
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.