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 Burkina and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1966 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1978 at the first Visage practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the theremin 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 Howard Jones to the grunge kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Ultra Naté. All the underground hits.
All Marmalade tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Selector Dub Narcotic record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 oboe and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Saints record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Ultimate Spinach,
Jesper Dahlback,
Lyres,
Hot Snakes,
Sarah Menescal,
Bang On A Can,
Rakim,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Ohio Players,
The Gories,
Amon Düül II,
Duran Duran,
UT,
X-Ray Spex,
Dorothy Ashby,
Terry Callier,
Theoretical Girls,
Barbara Tucker,
Trumans Water,
Scrapy,
June Days,
The Smiths,
The Walker Brothers,
The Zeros,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Steve Hackett,
Chris & Cosey,
T.S.O.L.,
Mary Jane Girls,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
John Coltrane,
New Age Steppers,
Tom Boy,
Delon & Dalcan,
Alice Coltrane,
Robert Wyatt,
The Techniques,
Silicon Teens,
Joey Negro,
Au Pairs,
The Leaves,
Glambeats Corp.,
Aloha Tigers,
The Grass Roots,
It's A Beautiful Day,
the Bar-Kays,
Simply Red,
New York Dolls,
Pharoah Sanders,
DJ Sneak,
Lou Christie,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Sällskapet,
Hashim,
The Gun Club,
Tropical Tobacco,
Boogie Down Productions,
Lee Hazlewood,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon, Pantaleimon.
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.