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 Turkmenistan and from London.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Bowie show in Bromley.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Sao Paulo.
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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the sitar 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 Soul Sonic Force to the grime kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Scrapy. All the underground hits.
All Man Eating Sloth tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Laurel Aitken record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James White and The Blacks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The J.B.'s,
Barbara Tucker,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Red Krayola,
Ponytail,
Boredoms,
Mo-Dettes,
UT,
Max Romeo,
Loose Ends,
Sight & Sound,
Grauzone,
Pole,
The Durutti Column,
Heaven 17,
Black Flag,
Metal Thangz,
Bang On A Can,
Kaleidoscope,
Babytalk,
Rakim,
Bobby Byrd,
Iggy Pop,
These Immortal Souls,
The Toasters,
Bizarre Inc.,
Guru Guru,
David Bowie,
Glenn Branca,
The Smoke,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Stockholm Monsters,
Stetsasonic,
Bush Tetras,
Unwound,
Roxette,
Kenny Larkin,
Deadbeat,
K-Klass,
Mantronix,
Yusef Lateef,
Gang Gang Dance,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Tubeway Army,
Marshall Jefferson,
Ornette Coleman,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Eric Dolphy,
Bootsy Collins,
Circle Jerks,
Minnie Riperton,
The Black Dice,
Faraquet,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Boz Scaggs,
T. Rex,
Dawn Penn,
The American Breed,
Whodini, Whodini, Whodini, Whodini.
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.