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 Slovakia and from Lyon.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Taipei.
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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the theremin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks to the grime kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Iggy Pop. All the underground hits.
All Cecil Taylor tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Anthony Braxton record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a 808 and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a London Community Gospel Choir 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?
Robert Hood,
Max Romeo,
Absolute Body Control,
Desert Stars,
Mark Hollis,
Mary Jane Girls,
Rufus Thomas,
Danielle Patucci,
Pylon,
Magazine,
Bob Dylan,
Ken Boothe,
Hasil Adkins,
The Sound,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Bush Tetras,
Sun City Girls,
Tomorrow,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Crooked Eye,
Nation of Ulysses,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Rapeman,
Gang Gang Dance,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Scratch Acid,
Television,
F. McDonald,
AZ,
Dennis Brown,
Soft Cell,
Mission of Burma,
UT,
Infiniti,
Ten City,
The Names,
Livin' Joy,
New Age Steppers,
Lower 48,
Donald Byrd,
Scott Walker + Sunn O))),
The Detroit Cobras,
Joey Negro,
Metal Thangz,
Bizarre Inc.,
John Holt,
Tears for Fears,
Chrome,
Archie Shepp,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Amazonics,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
This Heat,
Das Ding,
Japan,
Porter Ricks,
Gil Scott Heron,
Alton Ellis,
Rod Modell,
Eric B and Rakim,
the Bar-Kays,
Pulsallama,
Liliput, Liliput, Liliput, Liliput.
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.