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 Papua New Guinea and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise show in London.
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 Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 oboe 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 Circle Jerks to the dance kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Jawbox. All the underground hits.
All Excepter tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sexual Harrassment record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ken Boothe,
Severed Heads,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The Blues Magoos,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Anakelly,
John Foxx,
Metal Thangz,
The Trojans,
Joyce Sims,
The Sound,
The Human League,
the Swans,
Maurizio,
AZ,
Byron Stingily,
Barbara Tucker,
Agent Orange,
Deepchord,
Kool Moe Dee,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Funkadelic,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Young Marble Giants,
Ultimate Spinach,
B.T. Express,
Dave Gahan,
Second Layer,
Darondo,
Marshall Jefferson,
Public Enemy,
Sound Behaviour,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Jeff Mills,
Sixth Finger,
Brick,
Public Image Ltd.,
Panda Bear,
Gang Green,
Matthew Bourne,
DNA,
Fela Kuti,
Iggy Pop,
Rapeman,
The Barracudas,
Eli Mardock,
The Buckinghams,
The Evens,
Malaria!,
The Happenings,
Adolescents,
John Holt,
Monks,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Hoover,
June of 44,
Terrestrial Tones,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Talk Talk,
Reuben Wilson,
Absolute Body Control,
Eric Dolphy,
The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs.
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.