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 Moldova and from Taipei.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 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 Sonny Sharrock to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Flesh Eaters. All the underground hits.
All James White and The Blacks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Siglo XX 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Idris Muhammad record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Echospace,
The Residents,
Suicide,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Skatalites,
Wasted Youth,
The Modern Lovers,
Porter Ricks,
Japan,
Scion,
Metal Thangz,
48th St. Collective,
Spoonie Gee,
Cecil Taylor,
Althea and Donna,
Barry Ungar,
the Bar-Kays,
Bluetip,
Accadde A,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The J.B.'s,
Panda Bear,
Technova,
Barrington Levy,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Masters at Work,
Inner City,
Gregory Isaacs,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
the Slits,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Underground Resistance,
Section 25,
Vainqueur,
Circle Jerks,
Fad Gadget,
Nas,
Kool Moe Dee,
Stiv Bators,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Eden Ahbez,
Toni Rubio,
Wire,
Gang Green,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Seeds,
The Barracudas,
Flamin' Groovies,
Cymande,
The Martian,
The Five Americans,
Gabor Szabo,
Susan Cadogan,
Eric Dolphy,
Qualms,
Tropical Tobacco,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Adolescents,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu, Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu, Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu, Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu.
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.