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 Malta and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1965 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 1976 at the first Wire practice in a loft in Watford.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Archie Shepp to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Q65. All the underground hits.
All Joe Finger tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Glambeats Corp. record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tres Demented record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mr. Review,
The Gun Club,
Darondo,
Essential Logic,
Joy Division,
Spandau Ballet,
Depeche Mode,
Black Sheep,
The Gories,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Con Funk Shun,
The Raincoats,
The Dirtbombs,
Jerry's Kids,
Glenn Branca,
Unrelated Segments,
Matthew Bourne,
Marcia Griffiths,
Fluxion,
The Walker Brothers,
Scientists,
Kerri Chandler,
Kenny Larkin,
Boz Scaggs,
Ludus,
Hasil Adkins,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
PIL,
Tres Demented,
Kaleidoscope,
A Flock of Seagulls,
H. Thieme,
Man Eating Sloth,
Dark Day,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Black Moon,
Charles Mingus,
Bush Tetras,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Leonard Cohen,
Alice Coltrane,
Motorama,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Urselle,
Dorothy Ashby,
One Last Wish,
U.S. Maple,
The New Christs,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Minutemen,
Gang Green,
Sandy B,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Fall,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Bob Dylan,
Sixth Finger,
A Certain Ratio,
Organ,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Pretty Things,
The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang, The Men They Couldn't Hang.
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.