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 St Lucia and from Edmonton.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 rhodes 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 Kings Of Tomorrow to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Bob Dylan. All the underground hits.
All Gang Green tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Agent Orange 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Arab on Radar record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultra Naté,
Maurizio,
Bronski Beat,
Colin Newman,
Moss Icon,
The Cure,
the Bar-Kays,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Busters,
The Cowsills,
The Alarm Clocks,
Stockholm Monsters,
Max Romeo,
Lindisfarne,
Piero Umiliani,
Big Daddy Kane,
Monolake,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Agent Orange,
Ultravox,
Scan 7,
Black Bananas,
Theoretical Girls,
Nik Kershaw,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Sandy B,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Sonic Youth,
Magazine,
Quantec,
The Detroit Cobras,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Suburban Knight,
Barbara Tucker,
New Age Steppers,
Ornette Coleman,
Grandmaster Flash,
Fugazi,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Man Parrish,
Gang of Four,
Arcadia,
Fad Gadget,
Siglo XX,
Lyres,
Crispian St. Peters,
the Slits,
T. Rex,
The Flesh Eaters,
Henry Cow,
Dorothy Ashby,
Visage,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Ronan,
Junior Murvin,
Mo-Dettes,
Newcleus,
Intrusion,
kango's stein massive,
Bauhaus,
The Litter, The Litter, The Litter, The Litter.
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.