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 Madagascar and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Madrid and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Seoul 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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Bobbi Humphrey to the disco kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud. All the underground hits.
All The Mojo Men tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Audionom record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 linndrum and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Porter Ricks record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Electric Prunes,
Metal Thangz,
Y Pants,
Ultimate Spinach,
a-ha,
the Germs,
Inner City,
The Kinks,
Bluetip,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Popol Vuh,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
Terry Callier,
Circle Jerks,
Los Fastidios,
10cc,
Porter Ricks,
Pussy Galore,
Gregory Isaacs,
Funkadelic,
Section 25,
Rosa Yemen,
the Fania All-Stars,
Harry Pussy,
Tim Buckley,
Spandau Ballet,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Wasted Youth,
Derrick Morgan,
John Coltrane,
Ice-T,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
Bob Dylan,
Henry Cow,
Sight & Sound,
Groovy Waters,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Joe Smooth,
Suicide,
Dead Boys,
Youth Brigade,
Sonny Sharrock,
ABC,
John Holt,
The Black Dice,
Sex Pistols,
Ken Boothe,
Alison Limerick,
Anakelly,
Nils Olav,
The Stooges,
Bootsy Collins,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Lyres,
Radio Birdman,
Fat Boys,
Aural Exciters,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Technova,
Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry, Don Cherry.
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.