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 Russia and from Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 theremin 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 American Breed to the grime 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 The Cure. All the underground hits.
All Black Sheep tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Minutemen record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Spandau Ballet,
Radiopuhelimet,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Mantronix,
New York Dolls,
Sonic Youth,
The Moody Blues,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Fortunes,
Model 500,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Mark Hollis,
Amon Düül,
Rapeman,
Nation of Ulysses,
Whodini,
Severed Heads,
Marcia Griffiths,
Terrestrial Tones,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Soul Sonic Force,
Freddie Wadling,
The Stooges,
Jimmy McGriff,
Mandrill,
Amazonics,
Fugazi,
Fat Boys,
X-101,
Neu!,
Theoretical Girls,
R.M.O.,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Motorama,
Derrick Morgan,
Loose Ends,
L. Decosne,
Goldenarms,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Pulsallama,
The Litter,
DNA,
Scion,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Bobby Byrd,
The J.B.'s,
Tropical Tobacco,
Crispy Ambulance,
Soft Cell,
The Sound,
Charles Mingus,
A Certain Ratio,
The Searchers,
Patti Smith,
Malaria!,
Dave Gahan,
Jawbox,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols, Sex Pistols.
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.