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 Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Toronto.
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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Dead C to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Oppenheimer Analysis. All the underground hits.
All Boogie Down Productions tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Beasts of Bourbon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pantaleimon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Charles Mingus,
New Age Steppers,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Tres Demented,
Aswad,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Ludus,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Bobby Byrd,
Joe Finger,
Leonard Cohen,
The Blackbyrds,
Talk Talk,
Jeff Mills,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Sällskapet,
Gong,
Sparks,
Gregory Isaacs,
Moby Grape,
Mr. Review,
Robert Wyatt,
Sonic Youth,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Q and Not U,
Judy Mowatt,
Idris Muhammad,
Ten City,
Joyce Sims,
The Seeds,
Mandrill,
Lakeside,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Divine Comedy,
Kool Moe Dee,
Warsaw,
Dawn Penn,
Carl Craig,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
The Index,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Panda Bear,
Gabor Szabo,
The Monochrome Set,
The Golliwogs,
Marcia Griffiths,
the Swans,
Patti Smith,
Excepter,
Bush Tetras,
The Alarm Clocks,
Fela Kuti,
The Mojo Men,
Simply Red,
Accadde A,
The Saints,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Ituana,
Nils Olav,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Theoretical Girls,
Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses, Liaisons Dangereuses.
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.