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 Lesotho and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Wire show in Watford.
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 Glasgow and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 rhodes 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 Mars to the grunge 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 Audionom. All the underground hits.
All Neil Young tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every China Crisis record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Birthday Party record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Severed Heads,
Whodini,
Angry Samoans,
Kas Product,
Newcleus,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Remains,
Sex Pistols,
Cecil Taylor,
Sonny Sharrock,
Skarface,
Bizarre Inc.,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Buckinghams,
Can,
Sixth Finger,
Yusef Lateef,
Eric Copeland,
Flamin' Groovies,
Public Image Ltd.,
Blossom Toes,
Ludus,
Minny Pops,
Robert Görl,
Hardrive,
48th St. Collective,
Gregory Isaacs,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Durutti Column,
Half Japanese,
Hasil Adkins,
Massinfluence,
Kool Moe Dee,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
This Heat,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The American Breed,
Organ,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Tom Boy,
The Vogues,
Crooked Eye,
Fear,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Spandau Ballet,
Make Up,
Nas,
Panda Bear,
Warsaw,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Techniques,
The J.B.'s,
8 Eyed Spy,
Lou Christie,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Throbbing Gristle,
Funky Four + One,
Stockholm Monsters,
Lucky Dragons,
The Young Rascals,
Bang On A Can, Bang On A Can, Bang On A Can, Bang On A Can.
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.