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 Swaziland and from Stockholm.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Rites of Spring to the funk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Bobby Womack. All the underground hits.
All AZ tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ponytail record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 rhodes and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nico record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Amon Düül II,
The Modern Lovers,
Max Romeo,
L. Decosne,
The Fugs,
Scion,
Black Pus,
Mark Hollis,
Saccharine Trust,
Mad Mike,
The Gap Band,
Mantronix,
CMW,
Crispy Ambulance,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Man Parrish,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Joyce Sims,
Loose Ends,
The J.B.'s,
Brick,
Steve Hackett,
the Association,
Banda Bassotti,
Mary Jane Girls,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Piero Umiliani,
Stereo Dub,
Kayak,
Todd Terry,
Liliput,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Detroit Cobras,
Ten City,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Eden Ahbez,
The New Christs,
Nils Olav,
Throbbing Gristle,
T. Rex,
The Sound,
The Pop Group,
The Skatalites,
Curtis Mayfield,
Crooked Eye,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Doobie Brothers,
Das Ding,
Jacques Brel,
Sound Behaviour,
Sight & Sound,
James White and The Blacks,
Boogie Down Productions,
Bobby Sherman,
The Standells,
The Smoke,
The Leaves,
David McCallum,
Ronan,
June of 44,
Gong,
Sugar Minott,
John Coltrane, John Coltrane, John Coltrane, John Coltrane.
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.