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 Mali and from Woodstock.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Beasts of Bourbon to the dance 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 B.T. Express. All the underground hits.
All Arthur Verocai tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Alarm Clocks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Reuben Wilson record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Spandau Ballet,
The Fire Engines,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Stiv Bators,
Isaac Hayes,
Byron Stingily,
Ornette Coleman,
Colin Newman,
Connie Case,
Fela Kuti,
The Young Rascals,
The Litter,
Index,
The Divine Comedy,
Aural Exciters,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Scan 7,
Gang of Four,
Rod Modell,
Al Stewart,
Arthur Verocai,
Black Moon,
The Searchers,
The Invisible,
Marine Girls,
Model 500,
KRS-One,
Tubeway Army,
Aswad,
Roxette,
Susan Cadogan,
8 Eyed Spy,
Von Mondo,
D'Angelo,
The Five Americans,
Harry Pussy,
The Blackbyrds,
the Normal,
Gong,
Alton Ellis,
Drive Like Jehu,
Lalann,
Joy Division,
Nick Fraelich,
Soulsonic Force,
Skriet,
Arab on Radar,
Bobby Sherman,
MDC,
Kurtis Blow,
Fugazi,
Gastr Del Sol,
Hashim,
Nation of Ulysses,
Saccharine Trust,
Rufus Thomas,
Audionom,
Accadde A,
Big Daddy Kane, Big Daddy Kane, Big Daddy Kane, Big Daddy Kane.
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.