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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television show in New York.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the guitar 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 Thinking Fellers Union Local 282 to the dance kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 UT. All the underground hits.
All Ajijia Myrayebe tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Soft Machine 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
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 Warsaw record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Joey Negro,
Whodini,
Niagra,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Buckinghams,
Barry Ungar,
The Birthday Party,
Desert Stars,
Crispian St. Peters,
Duran Duran,
Leonard Cohen,
Skaos,
The Dead C,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Smoke,
Traffic Nightmare,
a-ha,
Isaac Hayes,
8 Eyed Spy,
Kaleidoscope,
John Lydon,
Matthew Halsall,
Lindisfarne,
Brothers Johnson,
Minnie Riperton,
Boredoms,
Sällskapet,
Eve St. Jones,
Yazoo,
Yaz,
The Young Rascals,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Ronan,
Electric Prunes,
Connie Case,
Nick Fraelich,
Magma,
D'Angelo,
Theoretical Girls,
One Last Wish,
Quadrant,
the Slits,
Hashim,
Wally Richardson,
The Selecter,
Hoover,
Alphaville,
Eden Ahbez,
Radiohead,
Ohio Players,
Ice-T,
Sight & Sound,
Pere Ubu,
Lebanon Hanover,
Graham Central Station,
Scrapy,
The Five Americans,
Saccharine Trust,
Scion,
Dawn Penn,
Robert Hood, Robert Hood, Robert Hood, Robert Hood.
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.