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 Delhi.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Lou Reed to the grunge 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 West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band. All the underground hits.
All Gang Starr tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Junior Murvin 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Prince Buster record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang of Four,
Gang Gang Dance,
Lalo Schifrin,
Dorothy Ashby,
Mandrill,
The J.B.'s,
Pagans,
Bill Near,
Wire,
The Slits,
Stockholm Monsters,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
the Human League,
The United States of America,
Prince Buster,
Bauhaus,
Malaria!,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Curtis Mayfield,
Boredoms,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Adolescents,
Rapeman,
Radio Birdman,
Joy Division,
Grauzone,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Neil Young,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Althea and Donna,
Aural Exciters,
Harry Pussy,
Todd Terry,
Donny Hathaway,
The Five Americans,
La Düsseldorf,
John Coltrane,
The Offenders,
Danielle Patucci,
Maurizio,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Last Poets,
James Chance & The Contortions,
10cc,
Camberwell Now,
Sällskapet,
Tom Boy,
Intrusion,
Sound Behaviour,
Talk Talk,
Minor Threat,
Electric Prunes,
Trumans Water,
The Searchers,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Fear,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
The Vogues,
Mars, Mars, Mars, Mars.
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.