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 Denmark and from Bremen.
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 1960 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Swans to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Magazine. All the underground hits.
All Marcia Griffiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Absolute Body Control record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kayak,
Tom Boy,
Lucky Dragons,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Young Marble Giants,
Shoche,
Stetsasonic,
Gang Starr,
Jeff Mills,
Malaria!,
Byron Stingily,
Theoretical Girls,
Lalo Schifrin,
The Slackers,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Second Layer,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Howard Jones,
The Velvet Underground,
X-Ray Spex,
Roy Ayers,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Zeros,
Throbbing Gristle,
the Fania All-Stars,
Graham Central Station,
Swell Maps,
Gerry Rafferty,
Ronan,
Carl Craig,
The Beau Brummels,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
T. Rex,
Lou Christie,
Soul Sonic Force,
Sugar Minott,
The Wake,
Bootsy Collins,
The Cure,
Tommy Roe,
Hasil Adkins,
Junior Murvin,
Eden Ahbez,
48th St. Collective,
Archie Shepp,
Ultra Naté,
Deepchord,
Quadrant,
Saccharine Trust,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Gil Scott Heron,
Pussy Galore,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Idris Muhammad,
Surgeon,
Isaac Hayes,
Neu!,
The Music Machine,
The Pop Group,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Larry & the Blue Notes, Larry & the Blue Notes, Larry & the Blue Notes, Larry & the Blue Notes.
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.