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 Guinea-Bissau and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 theremin 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 The Walker Brothers to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 The United States of America. All the underground hits.
All The New Christs tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Donald Byrd record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Whodini record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eric Dolphy,
Lucky Dragons,
Tropical Tobacco,
Ice-T,
Soft Machine,
ABBA,
Harry Pussy,
Al Stewart,
Soft Cell,
Gregory Isaacs,
Lou Christie,
The Monks,
Infiniti,
The Stooges,
Scientists,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Selecter,
The Cowsills,
Funky Four + One,
The Moleskins,
John Cale,
Liliput,
Black Pus,
Newcleus,
James White and The Blacks,
Pulsallama,
Joyce Sims,
Warren Ellis,
MC5,
Tom Boy,
John Holt,
the Slits,
Chrome,
Hoover,
cv313,
Scan 7,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Lower 48,
These Immortal Souls,
Visage,
Minutemen,
Andrew Hill,
This Heat,
Inner City,
The Slits,
Michelle Simonal,
Amon Düül II,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Jeru the Damaja,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Scratch Acid,
Flash Fearless,
Swans,
Fear,
Hot Snakes,
The Saints,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
E-Dancer,
Colin Newman,
Unrelated Segments,
Gabor Szabo,
Sällskapet, Sällskapet, Sällskapet, Sällskapet.
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.