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 Liberia and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Human League show in Sheffield.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the sitar 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 The Birthday Party to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Sparks. All the underground hits.
All The Count Five tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Moody Blues 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lee Hazlewood record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Beasts of Bourbon,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
the Human League,
Maleditus Sound,
Fatback Band,
Donny Hathaway,
Peter & Gordon,
Suicide,
Desert Stars,
The Modern Lovers,
Cal Tjader,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Hardrive,
Peter and Kerry,
Thompson Twins,
The Last Poets,
Roy Ayers,
Brothers Johnson,
Scrapy,
Rapeman,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Gabor Szabo,
Blossom Toes,
Intrusion,
Tubeway Army,
Fad Gadget,
Quantec,
Soul Sonic Force,
The Techniques,
Tears for Fears,
Ronnie Foster,
Malaria!,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Panda Bear,
The Angels of Light,
Gang of Four,
Bobby Womack,
KRS-One,
Alison Limerick,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
the Swans,
Silicon Teens,
Susan Cadogan,
Terry Callier,
David McCallum,
Junior Murvin,
the Slits,
Marshall Jefferson,
Sex Pistols,
The Birthday Party,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Rufus Thomas,
Kerri Chandler,
Throbbing Gristle,
Rekid,
Saccharine Trust,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Residents,
Eric B and Rakim, Eric B and Rakim, Eric B and Rakim, Eric B and Rakim.
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.