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 United States and from Salvador.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 mellotron 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 Babytalk to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Fear. All the underground hits.
All Theoretical Girls tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Drexciya 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Bush Tetras record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang Green,
Todd Terry,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Grey Daturas,
Howard Jones,
10cc,
Lucky Dragons,
Johnny Osbourne,
ABBA,
The Index,
Magazine,
Sun Ra,
David Axelrod,
MC5,
The Pretty Things,
Alison Limerick,
Chris Corsano,
Cluster,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Trumans Water,
Curtis Mayfield,
Pantytec,
Faust,
Janne Schatter,
Fugazi,
The Invisible,
The Seeds,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Yazoo,
Byron Stingily,
Maurizio,
Ralphi Rosario,
Second Layer,
Blake Baxter,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Bob Dylan,
Pole,
Bill Near,
Silicon Teens,
Joensuu 1685,
Khruangbin,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Ice-T,
Echospace,
Laurel Aitken,
The Move,
Y Pants,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Q65,
Talk Talk,
Marcia Griffiths,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
The Selecter,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Neu!,
Scott Walker,
Gil Scott Heron,
Jerry's Kids,
Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans, Angry Samoans.
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.