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 Philippines and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1965.
I was there at the first Beefheart show in Lancaster.
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 1967 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and Mexico City.
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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 The Pretty Things to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Man Eating Sloth. All the underground hits.
All Flipper tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Boz Scaggs 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Harmonia record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cramps,
Gil Scott Heron,
A Certain Ratio,
ABC,
Man Eating Sloth,
Avey Tare,
Mars,
Sparks,
K-Klass,
Terry Callier,
Thee Headcoats,
Rotary Connection,
The Last Poets,
Saccharine Trust,
Sexual Harrassment,
Basic Channel,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
The Skatalites,
The Residents,
Johnny Osbourne,
Marshall Jefferson,
Aural Exciters,
Andrew Hill,
Swans,
8 Eyed Spy,
Graham Central Station,
Gichy Dan,
The Techniques,
Soft Machine,
Man Parrish,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Make Up,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Names,
Pantaleimon,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Severed Heads,
Vainqueur,
Gang Starr,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
the Association,
The Fall,
Sarah Menescal,
Peter & Gordon,
Underground Resistance,
Bush Tetras,
Magazine,
The Pop Group,
The Gun Club,
The Flesh Eaters,
Delon & Dalcan,
Girls At Our Best!,
The Dirtbombs,
Schoolly D,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Pylon,
Lou Reed,
Bad Manners,
The Fire Engines,
Black Sheep,
L. Decosne,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Fear,
Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra, Sun Ra.
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.