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 Maldives and from Philadelphia.
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 1961 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 The Index to the grunge kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Shuggie Otis. All the underground hits.
All The Monks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Neil Young record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 808 and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Fall record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Amon Düül II,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Don Cherry,
Man Parrish,
Arthur Verocai,
La Düsseldorf,
Scientists,
Procol Harum,
Alice Coltrane,
Marmalade,
Malaria!,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Gabor Szabo,
June of 44,
The Smiths,
Ken Boothe,
the Human League,
the Soft Cell,
Harpers Bizarre,
Marc Almond,
Minnie Riperton,
New Order,
This Heat,
Monks,
Warren Ellis,
The Young Rascals,
Lalann,
The Offenders,
Porter Ricks,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Lucky Dragons,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
A Certain Ratio,
Mantronix,
Sixth Finger,
Wally Richardson,
Sight & Sound,
Sonic Youth,
Sun Ra,
Schoolly D,
Depeche Mode,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Buzzcocks,
Swans,
Nils Olav,
Mars,
Intrusion,
Marcia Griffiths,
Albert Ayler,
The Index,
Bobby Womack,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
JFA,
Spandau Ballet,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Suburban Knight,
The Fugs,
Erasure,
Rod Modell,
Niagra,
The Fuzztones,
Brass Construction,
Deakin,
Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown, Dennis Brown.
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.