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 East Timor and from Bremen.
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 1960 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lagos and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manila 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the clarinet 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 Electric Prunes to the rap 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 The Last Poets. All the underground hits.
All Grey Daturas tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Rotary Connection 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Eli Mardock record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wire,
Tears for Fears,
Mission of Burma,
Gil Scott Heron,
The Music Machine,
Franke,
Morten Harket,
The Selecter,
MDC,
Deadbeat,
Faust,
The Seeds,
Gabor Szabo,
The Beau Brummels,
Nation of Ulysses,
The Moody Blues,
Symarip,
Talk Talk,
The Knickerbockers,
Iggy Pop,
Quantec,
The Black Dice,
The Misunderstood,
This Heat,
Interpol,
Kenny Larkin,
Swans,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
China Crisis,
Moss Icon,
Suicide,
Underground Resistance,
The Standells,
The Detroit Cobras,
Ituana,
KRS-One,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Dark Day,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Trumans Water,
Rites of Spring,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Ten City,
Gong,
The Gories,
David Axelrod,
Reuben Wilson,
Leonard Cohen,
Scratch Acid,
Aloha Tigers,
Clear Light,
Organ,
Duran Duran,
Black Sheep,
The Smiths,
The Toasters,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
The Victims,
Lucky Dragons,
The Shadows of Knight,
Slave,
Janne Schatter, Janne Schatter, Janne Schatter, Janne Schatter.
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.