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 St Kitts & Nevis and from Glasgow.
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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Blancmange to the crunk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band. All the underground hits.
All The Real Kids tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Davy DMX record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Soul Sonic Force record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Royal Trux,
The Detroit Cobras,
Pulsallama,
Qualms,
the Sonics,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Trumans Water,
Swans,
The Selecter,
The Velvet Underground,
Ornette Coleman,
The Beau Brummels,
Ten City,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Seeds,
Gichy Dan,
Bronski Beat,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Severed Heads,
Gregory Isaacs,
Warren Ellis,
Mission of Burma,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Y Pants,
Barry Ungar,
Maleditus Sound,
Sex Pistols,
Lyres,
8 Eyed Spy,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Sixth Finger,
Sun Ra,
Black Pus,
The Kinks,
Von Mondo,
Wally Richardson,
Wire,
The Pretty Things,
Sister Nancy,
The Mummies,
Isaac Hayes,
Accadde A,
John Holt,
Freddie Wadling,
Subhumans,
The Busters,
The Black Dice,
Khruangbin,
Index,
Slave,
The Cowsills,
Outsiders,
Barrington Levy,
X-101,
Tim Buckley,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Joe Smooth,
Sparks,
Little Man,
Wings,
The Monks, The Monks, The Monks, The Monks.
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.