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 Mozambique and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in 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 1964 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Idris Muhammad to the grunge kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Gian Franco Pienzio. All the underground hits.
All Terry Callier tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tomorrow 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Fania All-Stars record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Chris Corsano,
The Trojans,
MC5,
Althea and Donna,
Sister Nancy,
Niagra,
Deakin,
Underground Resistance,
Franke,
Eric B and Rakim,
John Lydon,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Lyres,
Boz Scaggs,
Au Pairs,
Moebius,
Eurythmics,
Shoche,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Silicon Teens,
Jacob Miller,
Animal Collective,
James White and The Blacks,
Hasil Adkins,
Mantronix,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Index,
The Busters,
Charles Mingus,
Soulsonic Force,
Young Marble Giants,
OOIOO,
Aloha Tigers,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Rod Modell,
Derrick May,
Adolescents,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
The Durutti Column,
Mission of Burma,
The Moleskins,
Warsaw,
Matthew Bourne,
Gang of Four,
Tom Boy,
Donny Hathaway,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Khruangbin,
Gil Scott Heron,
Cameo,
David Bowie,
Magma,
Metal Thangz,
Dead Boys,
Marmalade,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Negative Approach,
Idris Muhammad,
Organ,
Livin' Joy,
Talk Talk,
Grandmaster Flash,
Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama.
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.