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 Burundi and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 harpsichord 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 Severed Heads to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Girls At Our Best!. All the underground hits.
All The Black Dice tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Symarip 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Judy Mowatt record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Bauhaus,
Jimmy McGriff,
Bobby Womack,
Marmalade,
Sister Nancy,
The Tremeloes,
Reuben Wilson,
Marcia Griffiths,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Charles Mingus,
Amon Düül,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Alton Ellis,
Tommy Roe,
Rekid,
Ornette Coleman,
Buzzcocks,
Lee Hazlewood,
Freddie Wadling,
The Last Poets,
Shuggie Otis,
Flamin' Groovies,
Thompson Twins,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Don Cherry,
Alison Limerick,
DJ Sneak,
Minnie Riperton,
Traffic Nightmare,
Idris Muhammad,
Warren Ellis,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
The Evens,
The Vogues,
H. Thieme,
Desert Stars,
Archie Shepp,
Gong,
the Swans,
Model 500,
Todd Rundgren,
Ralphi Rosario,
Severed Heads,
X-102,
Lakeside,
Bluetip,
The Electric Prunes,
Bang On A Can,
Blancmange,
June Days,
Faraquet,
Mark Hollis,
Make Up,
Slick Rick,
Maleditus Sound,
Grauzone,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Soft Machine,
The Seeds,
Japan,
Funky Four + One,
Pere Ubu,
Wolf Eyes,
Nick Fraelich,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu, Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu, Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu, Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu.
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.