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 Equatorial Guinea and from Manila.
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 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Delhi and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 The New Christs to the rap 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 Y Pants. All the underground hits.
All Crash Course in Science tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Country Joe & The Fish 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a synthesizer 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 rhodes and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Martian,
Colin Newman,
John Holt,
Los Fastidios,
Sam Rivers,
Gichy Dan,
Wings,
Pantytec,
Loose Ends,
Moss Icon,
Brand Nubian,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Newcleus,
Warsaw,
Barry Ungar,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Electric Prunes,
Banda Bassotti,
Theoretical Girls,
The Knickerbockers,
Connie Case,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Nas,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Fall,
The Fortunes,
The New Christs,
Davy DMX,
Cluster,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Pierre Henry,
Kurtis Blow,
Shoche,
Siglo XX,
David McCallum,
Jacob Miller,
Suicide,
Monolake,
The Angels of Light,
Crispian St. Peters,
Stetsasonic,
Girls At Our Best!,
Vladislav Delay,
Skarface,
Sonny Sharrock,
Sugar Minott,
Althea and Donna,
Lindisfarne,
Tom Boy,
Lightning Bolt,
Glenn Branca,
Absolute Body Control,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Carl Craig,
the Sonics,
Can,
Q and Not U,
Von Mondo,
Soft Machine,
New Order,
ABC, ABC, ABC, ABC.
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.