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 Bhutan and from Bremen.
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 1960 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic to the techno 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 The Pop Group. All the underground hits.
All This Heat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The American Breed 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bob Dylan,
The Blues Magoos,
Aswad,
Man Eating Sloth,
Infiniti,
James White and The Blacks,
Sexual Harrassment,
La Düsseldorf,
Toni Rubio,
Dark Day,
June of 44,
Pylon,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Andrew Hill,
a-ha,
Thompson Twins,
John Cale,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Banda Bassotti,
Jeff Mills,
Henry Cow,
Fugazi,
John Foxx,
Monks,
Jimmy McGriff,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Icehouse,
Khruangbin,
Blake Baxter,
Hashim,
Johnny Clarke,
John Holt,
Kevin Saunderson,
Alphaville,
F. McDonald,
The Five Americans,
Nik Kershaw,
Skaos,
The Red Krayola,
Negative Approach,
The Blackbyrds,
Motorama,
Cymande,
Tim Buckley,
The Searchers,
Todd Rundgren,
Fluxion,
Barbara Tucker,
Whodini,
Jesper Dahlback,
Pharoah Sanders,
Eric Copeland,
World's Most,
Intrusion,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Animal Collective,
Fad Gadget, Fad Gadget, Fad Gadget, Fad Gadget.
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.