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 Ecuador and from Bologna.
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 1969 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Calgary.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1975 at the first Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the sitar 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 Pussy Galore 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 Ossler. All the underground hits.
All Royal Trux tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Adolescents 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Gladiators record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mo-Dettes,
Fad Gadget,
The Slackers,
Josef K,
Mars,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Skatalites,
Kurtis Blow,
Radiopuhelimet,
Crispy Ambulance,
The Beau Brummels,
Dennis Brown,
Dawn Penn,
a-ha,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Howard Jones,
cv313,
Black Moon,
These Immortal Souls,
Malaria!,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Leaves,
EPMD,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Yazoo,
UT,
Anakelly,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Reagan Youth,
Symarip,
John Cale,
Crooked Eye,
Mr. Review,
Shoche,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Offenders,
DNA,
Main Source,
Massinfluence,
Colin Newman,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Pere Ubu,
Hot Snakes,
Charles Mingus,
Boz Scaggs,
Alice Coltrane,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Sonny Sharrock,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Grandmaster Flash,
Jawbox,
Gabor Szabo,
Jeru the Damaja,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Gap Band,
Chris & Cosey,
Fat Boys,
Aural Exciters,
8 Eyed Spy,
Theoretical Girls,
Archie Shepp, Archie Shepp, Archie Shepp, Archie Shepp.
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.