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 Pakistan and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1960 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 guitar 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 Fort Wilson Riot to the grime kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Seeds. All the underground hits.
All Tomorrow tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Matthew Halsall record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a London Community Gospel Choir record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pulsallama,
Robert Wyatt,
Banda Bassotti,
Mark Hollis,
Black Pus,
R.M.O.,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Remains,
Peter & Gordon,
The Gladiators,
Fear,
La Düsseldorf,
Public Enemy,
Public Image Ltd.,
Morten Harket,
Minnie Riperton,
The Monks,
Darondo,
Gichy Dan,
Cameo,
Das Ding,
Zapp,
Alison Limerick,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Five Americans,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Toasters,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Derrick Morgan,
Mad Mike,
Rekid,
Skarface,
Eric Dolphy,
The Human League,
Gregory Isaacs,
T. Rex,
Angry Samoans,
a-ha,
ABBA,
Chris Corsano,
Tommy Roe,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Severed Heads,
Bill Near,
Sexual Harrassment,
Schoolly D,
Agent Orange,
Motorama,
Joey Negro,
Jacques Brel,
Vladislav Delay,
Boogie Down Productions,
Reuben Wilson,
Lyres,
Eric B and Rakim,
Flamin' Groovies,
The Shadows of Knight,
John Foxx,
Fela Kuti,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Barbara Tucker,
Minor Threat, Minor Threat, Minor Threat, Minor Threat.
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.