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 Mongolia and from Portland.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle 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 1963 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 1977 at the first Mistral practice in a loft in Amsterdam.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Monolake 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 Bob Dylan. All the underground hits.
All Deadbeat tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Royal Family And The Poor 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fort Wilson Riot record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare 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?
Harry Pussy,
The Pretty Things,
Public Image Ltd.,
Vladislav Delay,
The Remains,
Mo-Dettes,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Gil Scott Heron,
Sun Ra,
Quantec,
Radio Birdman,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Gregory Isaacs,
Neu!,
These Immortal Souls,
The Flesh Eaters,
Soulsonic Force,
Kenny Larkin,
Schoolly D,
Minnie Riperton,
Howard Jones,
Ronnie Foster,
The Real Kids,
Donald Byrd,
Don Cherry,
The Walker Brothers,
Bobby Byrd,
Cluster,
Camouflage,
The Fortunes,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Misunderstood,
T. Rex,
Johnny Clarke,
Alphaville,
The Doobie Brothers,
Janne Schatter,
Glenn Branca,
The Seeds,
Fat Boys,
Ultimate Spinach,
Yellowson,
La Düsseldorf,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Deepchord,
Amon Düül II,
Angry Samoans,
the Fania All-Stars,
Bootsy Collins,
Tim Buckley,
Donny Hathaway,
John Foxx,
Pagans,
Gong,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Jeru the Damaja,
Magma,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Ralphi Rosario,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
The Fire Engines,
Todd Rundgren,
Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron, Cybotron.
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.