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 Marshall Islands and from Cairo.
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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Shanghai and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Intrusion to the dance 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 James White and The Blacks. All the underground hits.
All Amon Düül II tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Crime,
Stetsasonic,
Barbara Tucker,
the Soft Cell,
The Cure,
Byron Stingily,
The Beau Brummels,
Scott Walker,
UT,
Yusef Lateef,
Reuben Wilson,
The Fire Engines,
Susan Cadogan,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Amazonics,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Marine Girls,
Johnny Osbourne,
Fugazi,
Scratch Acid,
The Dirtbombs,
Section 25,
Cymande,
Minor Threat,
AZ,
Crispian St. Peters,
Outsiders,
Smog,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
The Knickerbockers,
Sarah Menescal,
June of 44,
Unwound,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Alison Limerick,
Donald Byrd,
Howard Jones,
Faust,
Fad Gadget,
The Birthday Party,
The Kinks,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Avey Tare,
Amon Düül,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Black Flag,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Khruangbin,
Shuggie Otis,
The Sound,
E-Dancer,
Sister Nancy,
Porter Ricks,
Neu!,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Boogie Down Productions,
Janne Schatter,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Young Marble Giants,
Chrome,
New York Dolls,
The Index, The Index, The Index, The Index.
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.