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 Vietnam and from Manila.
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 1968 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Delhi 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
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 Pantytec to the grunge 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 London Community Gospel Choir. All the underground hits.
All Loose Ends tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every kango's stein massive record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a snare and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Symarip record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Magazine,
Drexciya,
Rod Modell,
Tres Demented,
Boogie Down Productions,
Malaria!,
Wolf Eyes,
Yazoo,
Popol Vuh,
Crooked Eye,
Al Stewart,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Stereo Dub,
Scott Walker,
Terrestrial Tones,
Surgeon,
The Buckinghams,
Lalann,
Glambeats Corp.,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Lungfish,
Terry Callier,
Joy Division,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Stockholm Monsters,
Qualms,
The Sonics,
Fluxion,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
cv313,
Gong,
Steve Hackett,
Black Moon,
Inner City,
John Coltrane,
Eden Ahbez,
the Association,
the Sonics,
Radio Birdman,
Lalo Schifrin,
Outsiders,
Organ,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Suicide,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Matthew Bourne,
Theoretical Girls,
Bang On A Can,
Donny Hathaway,
Angry Samoans,
DJ Style,
Procol Harum,
The Remains,
The Invisible,
Deadbeat,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Fire Engines,
Rosa Yemen,
Thompson Twins,
Oblivians,
Magma, Magma, Magma, Magma.
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.