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 Nepal and from Glasgow.
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 1961 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the linndrum 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 Sarah Menescal 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 Mad Mike. All the underground hits.
All The Litter tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Oneida record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 chamberlin and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Wake record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Underground Resistance,
Curtis Mayfield,
Cheater Slicks,
Lungfish,
Amon Düül,
Gichy Dan,
Jawbox,
Yellowson,
Black Flag,
Public Image Ltd.,
The Cowsills,
Ludus,
Moebius,
Young Marble Giants,
Easy Going,
Marc Almond,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Echospace,
Pantytec,
Alton Ellis,
China Crisis,
Pylon,
The Dead C,
the Slits,
Freddie Wadling,
Bob Dylan,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Magazine,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Au Pairs,
Quadrant,
Sex Pistols,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Faust,
Man Eating Sloth,
Matthew Halsall,
Slave,
the Bar-Kays,
Glenn Branca,
Archie Shepp,
Mars,
Dorothy Ashby,
Delta 5,
Bad Manners,
Wasted Youth,
Kenny Larkin,
Scan 7,
Heaven 17,
Franke,
Eurythmics,
Black Bananas,
The Leaves,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Joe Finger,
Junior Murvin,
Colin Newman,
Toni Rubio,
Khruangbin,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Sonics,
Q and Not U,
Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks, Porter Ricks.
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.