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 Mexico and from Glasgow.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Massinfluence to the grunge kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Gang Gang Dance. All the underground hits.
All Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Stereo Dub 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Joensuu 1685 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a rhodes.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Stereo Dub,
The Star Department,
Pussy Galore,
Drexciya,
The Moleskins,
Delon & Dalcan,
The Dirtbombs,
Gil Scott Heron,
Traffic Nightmare,
Nico,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Stetsasonic,
The Saints,
Prince Buster,
Crispy Ambulance,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Malaria!,
The Cramps,
Wasted Youth,
Smog,
Carl Craig,
The Count Five,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Kerrie Biddell,
The Victims,
Loose Ends,
Eric Copeland,
Cecil Taylor,
The Zeros,
John Cale,
T. Rex,
Anthony Braxton,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Joe Finger,
The American Breed,
The Alarm Clocks,
Simply Red,
The Invisible,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Shoche,
This Heat,
Black Flag,
Minutemen,
Gong,
Suburban Knight,
The Cowsills,
Harry Pussy,
Severed Heads,
Flamin' Groovies,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Camberwell Now,
New Age Steppers,
Parry Music,
Sex Pistols,
Easy Going,
Lee Hazlewood,
The Mojo Men,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Offenders,
Excepter,
Unwound,
Section 25,
Quantec,
Letta Mbulu,
Sunsets and Hearts, Sunsets and Hearts, Sunsets and Hearts, Sunsets and Hearts.
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.