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 Kiribati and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Woodstock.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Halifax 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 1979 at the first Second Layer practice in a loft in South London.
I was working on the chamberlin 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 Peter and Kerry to the punk 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 Gastr Del Sol. All the underground hits.
All Camouflage tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Modern Lovers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 marimba and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Henry Cow record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Marine Girls,
Con Funk Shun,
The Residents,
Pierre Henry,
The Fall,
a-ha,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Fat Boys,
The Gladiators,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Fugazi,
Can,
Guru Guru,
the Slits,
Buzzcocks,
Pere Ubu,
Archie Shepp,
the Association,
Chris Corsano,
Sound Behaviour,
Animal Collective,
Hardrive,
Mad Mike,
Curtis Mayfield,
Brand Nubian,
Jerry's Kids,
Chrome,
The Buckinghams,
Essential Logic,
Rakim,
Stetsasonic,
Massinfluence,
The Motions,
Rites of Spring,
Quantec,
kango's stein massive,
Angry Samoans,
The Angels of Light,
Mission of Burma,
Warren Ellis,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Stooges,
The Divine Comedy,
Gong,
Heaven 17,
New York Dolls,
Piero Umiliani,
Delon & Dalcan,
Letta Mbulu,
The Vogues,
Swans,
Matthew Halsall,
Dark Day,
The Sound,
John Foxx,
Graham Central Station,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Barry Ungar,
Section 25,
The Knickerbockers,
David Axelrod, David Axelrod, David Axelrod, David Axelrod.
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.