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 Andorra and from Lyon.
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 1965 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Milan 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Television to the grime kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Boredoms. All the underground hits.
All The Grass Roots tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Camberwell Now 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Monks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eddi Front,
The New Christs,
Radio Birdman,
Brand Nubian,
Soft Machine,
The Blues Magoos,
Ralphi Rosario,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Blancmange,
Tears for Fears,
Hoover,
Fad Gadget,
Zapp,
The Residents,
Mandrill,
Pagans,
Lou Reed,
Connie Case,
Davy DMX,
Lungfish,
Mr. Review,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Lalann,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Eric Dolphy,
The Angels of Light,
Warsaw,
the Swans,
Electric Prunes,
Absolute Body Control,
Oblivians,
The Moleskins,
Bill Wells,
Godley & Creme,
MDC,
Masters at Work,
Gong,
Vladislav Delay,
The Walker Brothers,
The Mighty Diamonds,
New Order,
Sonic Youth,
Skarface,
Fat Boys,
Derrick May,
Nation of Ulysses,
Gregory Isaacs,
R.M.O.,
The Grass Roots,
Judy Mowatt,
Unrelated Segments,
Arthur Verocai,
Depeche Mode,
Colin Newman,
Robert Hood,
Oneida,
PIL,
Joyce Sims,
Boredoms,
Darondo,
The Golliwogs,
Livin' Joy,
Anakelly,
Organ, Organ, Organ, Organ.
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.