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 Bangladesh and from Columbus.
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 1966 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Lille.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 1984 at the first Arcadia practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Glambeats Corp. to the disco kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Whodini. All the underground hits.
All Harry Pussy tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Motions 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mark Hollis,
Sex Pistols,
Deakin,
World's Most,
Erykah Badu,
Panda Bear,
The Invisible,
the Soft Cell,
Banda Bassotti,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Average White Band,
Kool Moe Dee,
Basic Channel,
Iggy Pop,
Joe Smooth,
New Order,
The Sonics,
T. Rex,
Chris Corsano,
Stiv Bators,
The Offenders,
Visage,
Danielle Patucci,
Isaac Hayes,
Byron Stingily,
Joey Negro,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Bobby Byrd,
Gang Green,
Ossler,
Minor Threat,
Ludus,
James White and The Blacks,
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Martian,
Sound Behaviour,
Angry Samoans,
Bluetip,
Roxy Music,
Todd Rundgren,
The Monks,
OOIOO,
Loose Ends,
Outsiders,
Adolescents,
The Stooges,
Terry Callier,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Last Poets,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Rakim,
Wire,
Jawbox,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Curtis Mayfield,
Junior Murvin,
The Music Machine,
R.M.O.,
Los Fastidios,
Flamin' Groovies,
Jeru the Damaja,
Derrick Morgan,
Albert Ayler,
Moby Grape, Moby Grape, Moby Grape, Moby Grape.
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.