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 Congo 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 1963 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 Tom Verlaine 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 Arab on Radar to the jazz 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 Girls At Our Best!. All the underground hits.
All Sexual Harrassment tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every James White and The Blacks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mark Hollis record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a synthesizer.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Model 500,
The Modern Lovers,
Roger Hodgson,
World's Most,
Graham Central Station,
Supertramp,
Wolf Eyes,
Massinfluence,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Tears for Fears,
Marine Girls,
The Martian,
Intrusion,
Erasure,
The Index,
Matthew Bourne,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
The Gun Club,
The Sisters of Mercy,
The Cure,
Reuben Wilson,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Josef K,
Aswad,
kango's stein massive,
Malaria!,
David McCallum,
B.T. Express,
David Axelrod,
Babytalk,
The Durutti Column,
Agent Orange,
Fat Boys,
Second Layer,
Ludus,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Rosa Yemen,
Letta Mbulu,
Kenny Larkin,
Guru Guru,
Subhumans,
The Evens,
Sight & Sound,
8 Eyed Spy,
Fort Wilson Riot,
the Swans,
Soft Machine,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Marvin Gaye,
Kerri Chandler,
Country Teasers,
Pet Shop Boys,
Terrestrial Tones,
John Holt,
Arab on Radar,
Underground Resistance,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Frankie Knuckles,
Schoolly D,
The Music Machine, The Music Machine, The Music Machine, The Music Machine.
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.