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 Qatar and from Spokane.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South London.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 Art of Noise practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the rhodes 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 The Last Poets to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Art Ensemble Of Chicago. All the underground hits.
All Pierre Henry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Gladiators record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kerrie Biddell record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brothers Johnson,
Cameo,
Von Mondo,
Mr. Review,
Sandy B,
Aural Exciters,
June of 44,
The Sonics,
MC5,
Minnie Riperton,
Dorothy Ashby,
Marc Almond,
The Misunderstood,
Robert Wyatt,
Fear,
Tears for Fears,
Mandrill,
ABC,
Basic Channel,
Mary Jane Girls,
Magma,
Henry Cow,
Brand Nubian,
Chris Corsano,
the Soft Cell,
K-Klass,
Glenn Branca,
Rites of Spring,
Neu!,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Monolake,
Robert Görl,
Cal Tjader,
Nils Olav,
Sight & Sound,
Prince Buster,
Lee Hazlewood,
Sexual Harrassment,
The Invisible,
Gerry Rafferty,
Television,
Pere Ubu,
Fela Kuti,
Radio Birdman,
The Neon Judgement,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Shoche,
Essential Logic,
KRS-One,
Moby Grape,
Curtis Mayfield,
John Coltrane,
The Names,
Nico,
Neil Young,
Patti Smith,
Drive Like Jehu,
Eric Copeland,
Panda Bear,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Godley & Creme,
Fort Wilson Riot, Fort Wilson Riot, Fort Wilson Riot, Fort Wilson Riot.
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.