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 Romania and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Woodstock.
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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the clarinet 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 the Bar-Kays to the punk kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Khruangbin. All the underground hits.
All Major Organ And The Adding Machine tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Derrick Morgan 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Adolescents,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Kaleidoscope,
Skaos,
Althea and Donna,
Donald Byrd,
cv313,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Gun Club,
the Association,
Tim Buckley,
The Dave Clark Five,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Sam Rivers,
Cluster,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Sound Behaviour,
Fugazi,
Jeff Lynne,
Letta Mbulu,
Harry Pussy,
The Fall,
Soft Cell,
Jeru the Damaja,
Au Pairs,
Das Ding,
Eurythmics,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Arcadia,
Pole,
Matthew Bourne,
Second Layer,
ABBA,
Oneida,
Brick,
Eric Copeland,
Television Personalities,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Bang On A Can,
Brass Construction,
Alton Ellis,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Roy Ayers,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
The Names,
Banda Bassotti,
David McCallum,
Johnny Osbourne,
Janne Schatter,
Outsiders,
Yazoo,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
The Fortunes,
Dave Gahan,
Wolf Eyes,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Mandrill,
Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks, Circle Jerks.
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.