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 Somalia and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1983.
I was there at the first Art of Noise 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 1969 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Accra and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lille 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 1983 at the first Lewis practice in a loft in Vancouver.
I was working on the theremin 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 The Men They Couldn't Hang to the jazz 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 One Last Wish. All the underground hits.
All Archie Shepp tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jacques Brel record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dirtbombs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pussy Galore,
Sällskapet,
The Beau Brummels,
Fugazi,
Cluster,
the Swans,
The Tremeloes,
Grauzone,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Juan Atkins,
Pierre Henry,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Techniques,
Swans,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Franke,
Mark Hollis,
Barclay James Harvest,
kango's stein massive,
Letta Mbulu,
Big Daddy Kane,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Simply Red,
World's Most,
Sun Ra,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Television,
The Knickerbockers,
Throbbing Gristle,
Joey Negro,
Nas,
Technova,
The Raincoats,
Shuggie Otis,
The Angels of Light,
The Standells,
Michelle Simonal,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Eric Dolphy,
The Walker Brothers,
The Count Five,
Lebanon Hanover,
The Flesh Eaters,
The Fall,
Gabor Szabo,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Ludus,
Warren Ellis,
Model 500,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Swell Maps,
Cybotron,
Magazine,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Japan,
Khruangbin,
The Slackers,
Colin Newman,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield.
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.