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 Bangladesh and from Houston.
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 1967 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro 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 Siouxsie and the Banshees to the funk 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 Selector Dub Narcotic. All the underground hits.
All The Misunderstood tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Minny Pops record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 theremin and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eve St. Jones record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wally Richardson,
L. Decosne,
The Busters,
Trumans Water,
The Slackers,
Smog,
Gastr Del Sol,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Anakelly,
Technova,
Jeff Lynne,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Black Bananas,
The Dave Clark Five,
Mary Jane Girls,
Tears for Fears,
Dead Boys,
Ultimate Spinach,
Camouflage,
Television Personalities,
Eve St. Jones,
Dawn Penn,
Rod Modell,
Boredoms,
F. McDonald,
Bush Tetras,
Sun Ra,
Index,
Pantytec,
Ralphi Rosario,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Selecter,
Yazoo,
John Coltrane,
Urselle,
Porter Ricks,
Scion,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Ossler,
Excepter,
Ronnie Foster,
The Fortunes,
Spandau Ballet,
kango's stein massive,
Aswad,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Alton Ellis,
Lindisfarne,
Janne Schatter,
Marvin Gaye,
The Monochrome Set,
Circle Jerks,
Talk Talk,
Deakin,
Bill Wells,
The Gladiators,
Black Moon,
Boz Scaggs,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Residents,
Neil Young, Neil Young, Neil Young, Neil Young.
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.