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 Ireland and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 clarinet 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 Rotary Connection to the punk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Angry Samoans. All the underground hits.
All Scion tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Glambeats Corp. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Sonics,
Bad Manners,
Althea and Donna,
Johnny Osbourne,
The Skatalites,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Sixth Finger,
Davy DMX,
The Smiths,
The Zeros,
Kool Moe Dee,
Hasil Adkins,
Minutemen,
Lee Hazlewood,
Robert Wyatt,
Audionom,
Max Romeo,
Joensuu 1685,
Nick Fraelich,
The Angels of Light,
Visage,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Gabor Szabo,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Sisters of Mercy,
T. Rex,
Desert Stars,
The Divine Comedy,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
kango's stein massive,
The Blues Magoos,
The Kinks,
Sister Nancy,
New Age Steppers,
The Residents,
Harmonia,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Joe Finger,
Little Man,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
The Happenings,
The Fire Engines,
Jeff Mills,
Scratch Acid,
Slick Rick,
Harry Pussy,
Brick,
Easy Going,
Moby Grape,
Pole,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Y Pants,
The Electric Prunes,
The Music Machine,
Kurtis Blow,
June of 44,
Trumans Water,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Trojans,
The Beau Brummels,
Arthur Verocai,
Arcadia,
Theoretical Girls,
Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman.
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.