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 Bosnia Herzegovina and from Seoul.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 8 Eyed Spy to the crunk 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 Crash Course in Science. All the underground hits.
All Make Up tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tom Boy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Scott Walker record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dead C,
The Sonics,
Blancmange,
The Moody Blues,
Goldenarms,
Terry Callier,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Gregory Isaacs,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Black Flag,
Scan 7,
Fluxion,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Essential Logic,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Star Department,
The Walker Brothers,
The Alarm Clocks,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Lindisfarne,
the Swans,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Television,
Pole,
Jeru the Damaja,
Ohio Players,
The J.B.'s,
The Fire Engines,
John Foxx,
Crooked Eye,
David Axelrod,
Darondo,
Spoonie Gee,
Bauhaus,
The Saints,
Marcia Griffiths,
EPMD,
Q65,
The Remains,
Fela Kuti,
Panda Bear,
Chrome,
Harpers Bizarre,
Yaz,
The Slits,
Carl Craig,
Echospace,
The Mummies,
Adolescents,
Flash Fearless,
The Neon Judgement,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Barclay James Harvest,
The Evens,
Jandek,
China Crisis,
The New Christs,
Black Bananas,
Traffic Nightmare,
Marine Girls,
Tom Boy, Tom Boy, Tom Boy, Tom Boy.
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.