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 Libya and from Tokyo.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Parry Music to the punk 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 Doobie Brothers. All the underground hits.
All John Coltrane tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Television Personalities 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lindisfarne record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Chris Corsano,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Gang Starr,
FM Einheit,
Pole,
In Retrospect,
Minny Pops,
David Bowie,
The Flesh Eaters,
Smog,
The Gun Club,
Metal Thangz,
Ronan,
Ohio Players,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Buzzcocks,
Rufus Thomas,
Fear,
Magma,
Fela Kuti,
Sixth Finger,
Kerrie Biddell,
Cal Tjader,
T. Rex,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The United States of America,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Cybotron,
Bob Dylan,
Terrestrial Tones,
Mad Mike,
Jeff Mills,
Yazoo,
Avey Tare,
Frankie Knuckles,
Graham Central Station,
Soul II Soul,
Camouflage,
Von Mondo,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Stockholm Monsters,
Harmonia,
Gil Scott Heron,
Bill Near,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Joe Finger,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Lungfish,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Dead Boys,
Charles Mingus,
Letta Mbulu,
Sandy B,
The Wake,
Eric Copeland,
Henry Cow,
The Electric Prunes,
Wally Richardson,
LL Cool J,
Leonard Cohen,
Connie Case,
Subhumans,
Masters at Work, Masters at Work, Masters at Work, Masters at Work.
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.