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 France and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1968 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Lyon.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 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 Blossom Toes to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Walker Brothers. All the underground hits.
All The Alarm Clocks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Todd Terry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 guitar and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Dark Day record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Q65,
Ultra Naté,
Japan,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Rosa Yemen,
Prince Buster,
Wally Richardson,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Excepter,
Colin Newman,
Ultimate Spinach,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Procol Harum,
The Durutti Column,
The Modern Lovers,
James White and The Blacks,
Roxy Music,
Organ,
kango's stein massive,
Hashim,
Barrington Levy,
Loose Ends,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Gun Club,
Khruangbin,
Malaria!,
Sällskapet,
The Dave Clark Five,
Rapeman,
48th St. Collective,
Wasted Youth,
The Leaves,
Con Funk Shun,
cv313,
Mandrill,
Man Parrish,
Arcadia,
Gabor Szabo,
T. Rex,
Sun Ra,
Index,
The Kinks,
Can,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Crispian St. Peters,
Josef K,
Rekid,
Scan 7,
Frankie Knuckles,
DJ Sneak,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
F. McDonald,
Schoolly D,
Adolescents,
Lee Hazlewood,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Sandy B,
Accadde A,
Roxette, Roxette, Roxette, Roxette.
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.