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 Saudi Arabia and from Paris.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 oboe 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 H. Thieme to the electroclash 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 The Happenings. All the underground hits.
All Cymande tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every UT 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kings Of Tomorrow record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Jacques Brel,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Grey Daturas,
Tropical Tobacco,
Bootsy Collins,
Brass Construction,
Tears for Fears,
The Flesh Eaters,
Chrome,
Todd Terry,
Soft Machine,
Robert Wyatt,
Lou Christie,
Matthew Bourne,
Alison Limerick,
John Foxx,
Ice-T,
Hot Snakes,
the Swans,
Althea and Donna,
Sex Pistols,
Aswad,
Audionom,
Fat Boys,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Bang On A Can,
Morten Harket,
Bush Tetras,
Smog,
The Victims,
Angry Samoans,
Godley & Creme,
Nation of Ulysses,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Quadrant,
Whodini,
John Holt,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Toni Rubio,
Sonic Youth,
LL Cool J,
The Angels of Light,
a-ha,
Jawbox,
The Fuzztones,
Minor Threat,
Banda Bassotti,
Wally Richardson,
Skarface,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Ponytail,
Cecil Taylor,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Intrusion,
Crispian St. Peters,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Slackers,
Jeff Mills,
Minnie Riperton,
New Order,
Andrew Hill,
Janne Schatter,
Neu!,
Visage, Visage, Visage, Visage.
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.