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 Sudan and from Toronto.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Ultramagnetic MC's to the funk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Sun Ra Arkestra. All the underground hits.
All Pulsallama tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every B.T. Express record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 a sitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fugs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Flesh Eaters,
CMW,
The Remains,
Prince Buster,
Visage,
Toni Rubio,
Quadrant,
Cybotron,
The Mummies,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
the Swans,
K-Klass,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
La Düsseldorf,
Mantronix,
Thee Headcoats,
Smog,
Make Up,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Blues Magoos,
The Monks,
Aswad,
Neu!,
The Sonics,
Black Moon,
U.S. Maple,
Thompson Twins,
Electric Prunes,
Model 500,
Absolute Body Control,
Freddie Wadling,
a-ha,
Erykah Badu,
Brothers Johnson,
This Heat,
Lungfish,
FM Einheit,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Sexual Harrassment,
Grey Daturas,
Agent Orange,
Al Stewart,
Bauhaus,
Unrelated Segments,
Leonard Cohen,
Alphaville,
Negative Approach,
Angry Samoans,
PIL,
KRS-One,
Adolescents,
Nils Olav,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Yusef Lateef,
Mandrill,
The Divine Comedy,
The Star Department,
Soft Machine, Soft Machine, Soft Machine, Soft Machine.
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.