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 Spokane.
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 1963 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Copenhagen and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 1976 at the first Buzzcocks practice in a loft in Bolton.
I was working on the guitar 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 Rakim to the techno 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 The Peanut Butter Conspiracy. All the underground hits.
All The Walker Brothers tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Barclay James Harvest record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Electric Prunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Tomorrow,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Monolake,
Brick,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Scott Walker,
The Monochrome Set,
Darondo,
Arthur Verocai,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Jeff Mills,
Kevin Saunderson,
Skriet,
Suicide,
X-102,
Frankie Knuckles,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Spandau Ballet,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Iggy Pop,
Saccharine Trust,
The Searchers,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Black Moon,
David McCallum,
Ohio Players,
Icehouse,
The Kinks,
Minny Pops,
The Human League,
Colin Newman,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Evens,
Echospace,
Magma,
Nico,
Chrome,
John Cale,
Sonny Sharrock,
Cameo,
F. McDonald,
Nas,
Jawbox,
The Birthday Party,
Ultravox,
Organ,
Intrusion,
The Star Department,
Bobby Womack,
Funkadelic,
Sun Ra,
Aswad,
Avey Tare,
Das Ding,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Doobie Brothers,
H. Thieme,
Jeru the Damaja,
Scrapy,
Schoolly D,
Tim Buckley,
Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt.
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.