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 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 1968 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1965 at the first Beefheart practice in a loft in Lancaster.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Lizzy Mercier Descloux to the funk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Jeff Mills. All the underground hits.
All Reuben Wilson tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Marc Almond record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime 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 marimba and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Country Teasers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Country Joe & The Fish,
The Alarm Clocks,
Porter Ricks,
The Toasters,
Kerri Chandler,
Spandau Ballet,
Gang of Four,
Derrick Morgan,
Angry Samoans,
Jacob Miller,
New Order,
Sonic Youth,
The Red Krayola,
Blossom Toes,
Average White Band,
Susan Cadogan,
The Blackbyrds,
The J.B.'s,
Arcadia,
Piero Umiliani,
Skriet,
Pierre Henry,
Bad Manners,
Radio Birdman,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Cluster,
The Smoke,
Nation of Ulysses,
Gang Green,
Mr. Review,
June Days,
The Dead C,
FM Einheit,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Q65,
Eric Copeland,
Country Teasers,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
DJ Sneak,
X-102,
Spoonie Gee,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Deakin,
Ralphi Rosario,
These Immortal Souls,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
a-ha,
Easy Going,
Lebanon Hanover,
Ultimate Spinach,
Soulsonic Force,
Gil Scott Heron,
Cameo,
Oblivians,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Gichy Dan,
Harry Pussy,
Fat Boys,
The American Breed,
Matthew Bourne,
The Invisible,
The Tremeloes,
Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich, Nick Fraelich.
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.