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 Austria and from Cairo.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in 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 1968 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Madrid.
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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Sexual Harrassment to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Eric Dolphy. All the underground hits.
All Faust tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Arcadia 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 '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Donald Byrd record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Black Moon,
Cecil Taylor,
Echospace,
T. Rex,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
The Move,
Mad Mike,
Boredoms,
Banda Bassotti,
Khruangbin,
Quadrant,
The American Breed,
Joyce Sims,
Crooked Eye,
Soul II Soul,
The Standells,
Bill Wells,
Donny Hathaway,
Shuggie Otis,
Patti Smith,
Gang Green,
Gil Scott Heron,
Flipper,
Scientists,
Organ,
Robert Hood,
The Motions,
Albert Ayler,
Sight & Sound,
Ralphi Rosario,
Toni Rubio,
Quando Quango,
AZ,
Public Enemy,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Visage,
The Cramps,
Roger Hodgson,
The Last Poets,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Boz Scaggs,
Thee Headcoats,
Rotary Connection,
The Martian,
Man Eating Sloth,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Connie Case,
Reuben Wilson,
Vainqueur,
Electric Prunes,
The Dirtbombs,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Nation of Ulysses,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Desert Stars,
Tropical Tobacco,
Little Man,
Joy Division,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Suicide,
Sam Rivers, Sam Rivers, Sam Rivers, Sam Rivers.
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.