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 Copenhagen.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Glasgow.
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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the marimba 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 New Age Steppers 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 Amon Düül II. All the underground hits.
All Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Make Up 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a 8 Eyed Spy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Eric Copeland,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Star Department,
The Monks,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Throbbing Gristle,
Johnny Osbourne,
Pierre Henry,
Ronan,
Bill Near,
Hasil Adkins,
Dorothy Ashby,
Saccharine Trust,
Bill Wells,
Althea and Donna,
Kas Product,
Television Personalities,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Pylon,
The Golliwogs,
Pere Ubu,
Skaos,
The Grass Roots,
Thompson Twins,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Moss Icon,
Gil Scott Heron,
Siglo XX,
Lou Christie,
Pole,
Cheater Slicks,
Parry Music,
U.S. Maple,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Moody Blues,
Metal Thangz,
The Gun Club,
D'Angelo,
Archie Shepp,
Icehouse,
Mission of Burma,
Tres Demented,
Oblivians,
The Raincoats,
Zero Boys,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Severed Heads,
La Düsseldorf,
Q65,
Absolute Body Control,
Skarface,
The Remains,
The Invisible,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Intrusion, Intrusion, Intrusion, Intrusion.
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.