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 Seychelles and from London.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 The Smoke to the rock 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 Johnny Clarke. All the underground hits.
All Tropical Tobacco tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Buzzcocks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mr. Review record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Soul Sonic Force,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Maleditus Sound,
Agent Orange,
Loose Ends,
Metal Thangz,
The Doors,
The Dirtbombs,
Jacques Brel,
Grandmaster Flash,
Yazoo,
Slave,
Lalann,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
James White and The Blacks,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Bauhaus,
Motorama,
Basic Channel,
The Monks,
Crash Course in Science,
Oblivians,
Beasts of Bourbon,
X-101,
Boredoms,
The Shadows of Knight,
Rakim,
Warsaw,
The Gladiators,
Eurythmics,
Yellowson,
Flash Fearless,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Flesh Eaters,
Maurizio,
The Pretty Things,
Anakelly,
The New Christs,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Skatalites,
K-Klass,
Siglo XX,
Urselle,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Gerry Rafferty,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Con Funk Shun,
John Lydon,
Symarip,
the Bar-Kays,
Fear,
Avey Tare,
Main Source,
Robert Görl,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Cybotron,
Pylon,
The Slits,
Barry Ungar,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Misunderstood,
Barbara Tucker,
Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans.
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.