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 Trinidad & Tobago and from Philadelphia.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Gary Puckett & The Union Gap to the crunk 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 Joe Finger. All the underground hits.
All Rufus Thomas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Easy Going 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a guitar 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 marimba and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The J.B.'s,
T.S.O.L.,
David McCallum,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Pantaleimon,
Sex Pistols,
Banda Bassotti,
Public Enemy,
Bobby Byrd,
Fear,
Cybotron,
Ultra Naté,
The Grass Roots,
Siglo XX,
The Fortunes,
Camberwell Now,
Pole,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Minor Threat,
The Angels of Light,
Judy Mowatt,
Piero Umiliani,
Laurel Aitken,
Television Personalities,
Sight & Sound,
The Sonics,
Joe Finger,
Franke,
Charles Mingus,
Max Romeo,
Slave,
The Fuzztones,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Fad Gadget,
Harpers Bizarre,
Bad Manners,
Crispian St. Peters,
Drive Like Jehu,
Shoche,
In Retrospect,
Lalann,
Glambeats Corp.,
OOIOO,
Supertramp,
Whodini,
Agent Orange,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Gang Gang Dance,
Fat Boys,
Byron Stingily,
Gastr Del Sol,
Don Cherry,
Tomorrow,
Arthur Verocai,
Radiohead,
Brass Construction,
Roxette,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Thee Headcoats,
Crash Course in Science,
Nirvana,
Neu!, Neu!, Neu!, Neu!.
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.