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 Philippines and from Shanghai.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Cairo.
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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Porter Ricks to the crunk 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 Thompson Twins. All the underground hits.
All Lafayette Afro Rock Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Todd Rundgren record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 a guitar and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Soft Cell,
Bootsy Collins,
Pere Ubu,
Quantec,
Nation of Ulysses,
the Germs,
La Düsseldorf,
Harmonia,
OOIOO,
Scientists,
The Searchers,
B.T. Express,
Pulsallama,
Severed Heads,
Little Man,
Saccharine Trust,
New Age Steppers,
F. McDonald,
Letta Mbulu,
The Evens,
Derrick Morgan,
Hashim,
Electric Light Orchestra,
The Busters,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Popol Vuh,
Brick,
Bill Wells,
Lyres,
the Normal,
The Buckinghams,
Leonard Cohen,
Mission of Burma,
the Swans,
The Moody Blues,
Rhythm & Sound,
Cybotron,
The New Christs,
The Fugs,
The Black Dice,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Newcleus,
Babytalk,
Zapp,
Thee Headcoats,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Agitation Free,
DJ Sneak,
Tommy Roe,
Nico,
Scan 7,
Warsaw,
The United States of America,
Ohio Players,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
John Lydon,
Sight & Sound,
Max Romeo,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
The Martian,
Darondo,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Symarip, Symarip, Symarip, Symarip.
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.