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 France and from Edmonton.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 linndrum 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 Slits to the rock 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 ABBA. All the underground hits.
All Minor Threat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Glenn Branca 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Cure record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
E-Dancer,
Tom Boy,
Ultra Naté,
The Knickerbockers,
Deakin,
The Human League,
Hot Snakes,
Maleditus Sound,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Divine Comedy,
Eddi Front,
Visage,
Brick,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Seeds,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Nas,
Stereo Dub,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Wake,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Sound,
Chris & Cosey,
Young Marble Giants,
Aloha Tigers,
AZ,
Don Cherry,
Talk Talk,
Darondo,
Alton Ellis,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Crispy Ambulance,
Au Pairs,
Model 500,
The Standells,
Supertramp,
The Gladiators,
Outsiders,
The Modern Lovers,
The Zeros,
Moby Grape,
Vladislav Delay,
Dead Boys,
Brothers Johnson,
Ornette Coleman,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Alison Limerick,
The Litter,
Black Moon,
Isaac Hayes,
Archie Shepp,
New York Dolls,
Fad Gadget,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Index,
Black Flag,
Chrome,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Victims,
Duran Duran,
Ludus,
A Flock of Seagulls, A Flock of Seagulls, A Flock of Seagulls, A Flock of Seagulls.
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.