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 Papua New Guinea and from Mexico City.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Cabaret Voltaire to the dance kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Max Romeo. All the underground hits.
All Desert Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crooked Eye 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Banda Bassotti record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Barracudas,
The Gap Band,
The Pop Group,
The Golliwogs,
Yellowson,
Bobby Byrd,
Donny Hathaway,
Scrapy,
Ash Ra Tempel,
The Dirtbombs,
Jeru the Damaja,
Scientists,
Henry Cow,
Sixth Finger,
The Associates,
Pagans,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Thee Headcoats,
Graham Central Station,
Khruangbin,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Fortunes,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Fear,
Archie Shepp,
the Human League,
Pantaleimon,
Charles Mingus,
Deepchord,
Subhumans,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Royal Trux,
Piero Umiliani,
Bob Dylan,
Model 500,
Lucky Dragons,
kango's stein massive,
David Axelrod,
Inner City,
Bluetip,
Barrington Levy,
Magma,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Ultravox,
The Kinks,
Trumans Water,
Blossom Toes,
Pierre Henry,
Crime,
Pantytec,
The Fall,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Robert Görl,
Barry Ungar,
La Düsseldorf,
Kenny Larkin,
Roy Ayers,
Althea and Donna,
Franke, Franke, Franke, Franke.
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.