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 Haiti and from Bremen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 1969 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Tokyo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the 808 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 Crispian St. Peters to the grime 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 James White and The Blacks. All the underground hits.
All Sonny Sharrock tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Royal Family And The Poor record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 808 and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Unrelated Segments 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?
Barry Ungar,
Hasil Adkins,
John Cale,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
The Dead C,
Eli Mardock,
Pere Ubu,
The Velvet Underground,
New Age Steppers,
Oneida,
Frankie Knuckles,
David McCallum,
Reagan Youth,
Supertramp,
Prince Buster,
Albert Ayler,
Royal Trux,
Arab on Radar,
New York Dolls,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Fuzztones,
The Martian,
Sixth Finger,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Sonics,
Con Funk Shun,
Jandek,
Bang On A Can,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Suicide,
Pantytec,
Absolute Body Control,
F. McDonald,
The Sound,
Black Pus,
Unrelated Segments,
Man Eating Sloth,
Vladislav Delay,
DNA,
Fatback Band,
Public Enemy,
The Shadows of Knight,
Ossler,
Deadbeat,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Funkadelic,
Blossom Toes,
Amazonics,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
The Monks,
Nico,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
ABBA,
Anthony Braxton,
The Offenders,
Erasure,
Eden Ahbez,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Guru Guru,
Maleditus Sound,
Joensuu 1685,
The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs, The Fugs.
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.