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 China and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 rhodes 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 Ultravox to the disco kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Television. All the underground hits.
All Pylon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Men They Couldn't Hang record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Q65 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marmalade,
The Dirtbombs,
Funkadelic,
The Pretty Things,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Maurizio,
Average White Band,
The Invisible,
Eric Dolphy,
Pagans,
Malaria!,
Q and Not U,
Faust,
Trumans Water,
Oneida,
Henry Cow,
Avey Tare,
La Düsseldorf,
Tim Buckley,
The Martian,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Little Man,
Circle Jerks,
Los Fastidios,
the Normal,
Alice Coltrane,
Soul Sonic Force,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Eric Copeland,
Laurel Aitken,
Ronnie Foster,
The Saints,
Bobby Sherman,
Loose Ends,
Popol Vuh,
Deakin,
Rufus Thomas,
Schoolly D,
the Slits,
Mary Jane Girls,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Sexual Harrassment,
Sixth Finger,
Bobby Womack,
James White and The Blacks,
Quando Quango,
Kool Moe Dee,
Tom Boy,
The Dead C,
Chrome,
Barry Ungar,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Bush Tetras,
Eve St. Jones,
Negative Approach,
Rapeman,
Lindisfarne,
Mo-Dettes,
Ornette Coleman,
Gang of Four, Gang of Four, Gang of Four, Gang of Four.
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.