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 Tuvalu and from Mexico City.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 organ 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 The Happenings to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Letta Mbulu. All the underground hits.
All James White and The Blacks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every the Sonics record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Freddie Wadling record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Con Funk Shun,
Lee Hazlewood,
Marcia Griffiths,
Scrapy,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
The Busters,
Black Flag,
Clear Light,
Big Daddy Kane,
Piero Umiliani,
The Monks,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Soulsonic Force,
Zapp,
Bauhaus,
Harmonia,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Guru Guru,
Funkadelic,
Grandmaster Flash,
Cybotron,
Charles Mingus,
The Moody Blues,
Colin Newman,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Moby Grape,
Gang of Four,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Soft Cell,
Byron Stingily,
CMW,
Talk Talk,
The Slits,
Mo-Dettes,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Todd Rundgren,
Black Moon,
Graham Central Station,
The Flesh Eaters,
China Crisis,
Junior Murvin,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Urselle,
Fela Kuti,
Throbbing Gristle,
Banda Bassotti,
Neu!,
The Fortunes,
Fifty Foot Hose,
JFA,
Gabor Szabo,
Maurizio,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Wire,
The Dave Clark Five,
Mars,
Panda Bear,
Delon & Dalcan,
L. Decosne,
Fear,
T. Rex,
Tim Buckley,
Soft Machine, Soft Machine, Soft Machine, Soft 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.