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 Zambia and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Neu! show in Düsseldorf.
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 1969 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tokyo and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Stockholm 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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Ultravox to the jazz kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Sarah Menescal. All the underground hits.
All Bobby Womack tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Suicide record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Flesh Eaters record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Alarm Clocks,
Nick Fraelich,
Yusef Lateef,
the Association,
Popol Vuh,
Donald Byrd,
Can,
The Angels of Light,
The Buckinghams,
Shoche,
The Dirtbombs,
The Pretty Things,
The Real Kids,
Main Source,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Joy Division,
Deadbeat,
Scan 7,
Nirvana,
Pantaleimon,
Arthur Verocai,
Little Man,
Matthew Halsall,
Grandmaster Flash,
Model 500,
Eyeless In Gaza,
ABBA,
Fugazi,
Con Funk Shun,
Amazonics,
Desert Stars,
Massinfluence,
Kool Moe Dee,
Buzzcocks,
Soft Machine,
Lightning Bolt,
Theoretical Girls,
The Monks,
Sun City Girls,
La Düsseldorf,
Steve Hackett,
Derrick Morgan,
Grauzone,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Skatalites,
Gerry Rafferty,
The Walker Brothers,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
A Certain Ratio,
Barbara Tucker,
Curtis Mayfield,
Warsaw,
Michelle Simonal,
Young Marble Giants,
Mark Hollis,
Camouflage,
Section 25,
Depeche Mode,
The Moleskins,
The Fugs,
Mandrill,
Donny Hathaway,
Unrelated Segments, Unrelated Segments, Unrelated Segments, Unrelated Segments.
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.