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 Uruguay and from Bologna.
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 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Shanghai 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 chamberlin 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 Siouxsie and the Banshees to the techno 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 Derrick Morgan. All the underground hits.
All Freddie Wadling tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Lou Christie record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 mellotron and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Whodini record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Absolute Body Control,
the Soft Cell,
Charles Mingus,
The Trojans,
Crispian St. Peters,
Visage,
These Immortal Souls,
Faust,
Yazoo,
Avey Tare,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Crispy Ambulance,
Grey Daturas,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Eurythmics,
Ralphi Rosario,
Thee Headcoats,
Heaven 17,
Cymande,
Urselle,
Andrew Hill,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
New York Dolls,
Dorothy Ashby,
T. Rex,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Real Kids,
Michelle Simonal,
Tom Boy,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Sonny Sharrock,
Lightning Bolt,
Siglo XX,
Shuggie Otis,
Shoche,
Fat Boys,
Monks,
Tim Buckley,
Erykah Badu,
Easy Going,
Swell Maps,
Schoolly D,
Lou Reed,
Maurizio,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
The Offenders,
Sandy B,
Crash Course in Science,
De La Soul & Jungle Brothers,
Adolescents,
Jeru the Damaja,
Flash Fearless,
This Heat,
Franke,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Music Machine,
Byron Stingily,
John Lydon,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Hoover,
Deepchord,
Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield, Curtis Mayfield.
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.