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 Rwanda and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1962 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 harpsichord 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 Robert Wyatt to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Archie Shepp. All the underground hits.
All Fluxion tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Susan Cadogan record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Smog record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
Average White Band,
Cybotron,
Fela Kuti,
Jacob Miller,
Dark Day,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Rufus Thomas,
Lou Reed,
The Barracudas,
PIL,
Lower 48,
Stereo Dub,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
X-Ray Spex,
Young Marble Giants,
Sam Rivers,
Derrick May,
Camouflage,
Moby Grape,
The Alarm Clocks,
Marcia Griffiths,
Bill Wells,
Gil Scott Heron,
Bizarre Inc.,
Flamin' Groovies,
Scott Walker,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
The Victims,
The Dirtbombs,
Don Cherry,
Khruangbin,
Gerry Rafferty,
Cecil Taylor,
Skaos,
The Residents,
Sixth Finger,
Matthew Halsall,
Quadrant,
Warsaw,
Liliput,
Henry Cow,
Panda Bear,
Yellowson,
Sound Behaviour,
Radio Birdman,
Susan Cadogan,
Gastr Del Sol,
Eric Copeland,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
Curtis Mayfield,
Youth Brigade,
48th St. Collective,
Tim Buckley,
The Five Americans,
the Human League,
Ossler,
Terrestrial Tones,
Kerrie Biddell,
Dual Sessions,
Eve St. Jones,
Yaz, Yaz, Yaz, Yaz.
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.