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 Hungary and from Sao Paulo.
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 1962 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Philadelphia.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 Throbbing Gristle practice in a loft in London.
I was working on the marimba 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 Bang on a Can All-Stars to the crunk 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 The Blues Magoos. All the underground hits.
All Sarah Menescal tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dave Gahan record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 guitar and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cabaret Voltaire record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Crooked Eye,
The Moody Blues,
Donny Hathaway,
Clear Light,
Skaos,
Amon Düül,
The Detroit Cobras,
The Mighty Diamonds,
The Knickerbockers,
Massinfluence,
B.T. Express,
Man Parrish,
The Toasters,
10cc,
The Move,
Minnie Riperton,
Saccharine Trust,
The Index,
The Blues Magoos,
Albert Ayler,
Cameo,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Scratch Acid,
The Fire Engines,
June Days,
the Soft Cell,
Television Personalities,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Rufus Thomas,
The Red Krayola,
Josef K,
Magma,
Prince Buster,
Delon & Dalcan,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Ossler,
Bluetip,
PIL,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Derrick Morgan,
Patti Smith,
Lee Hazlewood,
Faraquet,
The Dirtbombs,
Kerri Chandler,
Negative Approach,
Mantronix,
The Pretty Things,
The Stooges,
Camouflage,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Agitation Free,
Black Bananas,
Althea and Donna,
Janne Schatter,
The Invisible,
the Normal,
Harmonia,
Wire,
Depeche Mode,
cv313,
James White and The Blacks, James White and The Blacks, James White and The Blacks, James White and The Blacks.
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.