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 Cyprus and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the synthesizer sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Bobby Hutcherson to the crunk 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 Colin Newman. All the underground hits.
All Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Man Parrish record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kool Moe Dee record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba 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?
Lightning Bolt,
the Slits,
Man Parrish,
the Bar-Kays,
Fugazi,
Ten City,
Second Layer,
Sonny Sharrock,
Con Funk Shun,
Gichy Dan,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Moleskins,
Gong,
Gang Starr,
Popol Vuh,
Wolf Eyes,
Aural Exciters,
The American Breed,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Shuggie Otis,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Main Source,
Vainqueur,
X-102,
Wally Richardson,
Yaz,
Rekid,
Quando Quango,
Eli Mardock,
Maleditus Sound,
Lakeside,
Yusef Lateef,
The Vogues,
Marvin Gaye,
The Gap Band,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Monochrome Set,
Absolute Body Control,
Wasted Youth,
New Age Steppers,
Soft Cell,
Duran Duran,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Surgeon,
T.S.O.L.,
Joy Division,
the Human League,
Bob Dylan,
Kenny Larkin,
The Toasters,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Ralphi Rosario,
the Normal,
Reuben Wilson,
Echospace,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Deepchord,
The Young Rascals,
Trumans Water,
Ultravox,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Pet Shop Boys,
A Certain Ratio,
Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler, Albert Ayler.
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.