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 Canada and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Second Layer show in South 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 1966 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Columbus.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 Anthony Braxton to the rock kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Detroit Cobras. All the underground hits.
All Cal Tjader tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Art Ensemble Of Chicago record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a linndrum 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 rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Cluster,
Sonic Youth,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Frankie Knuckles,
Severed Heads,
The Seeds,
Infiniti,
Visage,
Eric B and Rakim,
Supertramp,
The Searchers,
The Gladiators,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Barclay James Harvest,
48th St. Collective,
Groovy Waters,
Circle Jerks,
Camberwell Now,
The Associates,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Donald Byrd,
Lee Hazlewood,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Five Americans,
Gang of Four,
The Busters,
The Toasters,
Thee Headcoats,
The Shadows of Knight,
Tomorrow,
Tropical Tobacco,
Laurel Aitken,
The Moleskins,
Black Pus,
Tommy Roe,
Josef K,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
The Durutti Column,
The Happenings,
The Litter,
the Association,
Jerry's Kids,
Joe Smooth,
Dual Sessions,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Chris Corsano,
Bob Dylan,
The Moody Blues,
Robert Hood,
Maleditus Sound,
Moss Icon,
Morten Harket,
F. McDonald,
The Misunderstood,
Ice-T,
Derrick May,
New Age Steppers,
Vladislav Delay,
The United States of America,
Eddi Front,
Erasure,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Whodini,
Zapp, Zapp, Zapp, Zapp.
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.