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 South Sudan and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Philadelphia 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 K-Klass to the rock kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Doobie Brothers. All the underground hits.
All Vladislav Delay tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every FM Einheit record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s 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 Graham Central Station record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ituana,
The Angels of Light,
Brand Nubian,
The Residents,
Can,
The Gun Club,
K-Klass,
Tim Buckley,
Black Flag,
The Invisible,
X-Ray Spex,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Janne Schatter,
Animal Collective,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Minny Pops,
Crime,
Traffic Nightmare,
Aural Exciters,
Niagra,
The Pretty Things,
Gregory Isaacs,
The Offenders,
Soft Cell,
Urselle,
The Golliwogs,
Crooked Eye,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Symarip,
the Germs,
Infiniti,
Gang Green,
The Seeds,
Average White Band,
48th St. Collective,
Vladislav Delay,
JFA,
Reuben Wilson,
The Litter,
Ultimate Spinach,
the Swans,
Bobby Byrd,
Scratch Acid,
Harry Pussy,
Negative Approach,
The Sound,
Black Sheep,
Donald Byrd,
Todd Rundgren,
Scientists,
Roger Hodgson,
Fad Gadget,
Yazoo,
Theoretical Girls,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Metal Thangz,
Prince Buster,
The Real Kids,
Rakim,
The Remains,
Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry.
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.