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 Gabon and from Copenhagen.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lyon and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Notorious Big And Bone Thugs to the techno 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 Reuben Wilson. All the underground hits.
All Minutemen tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ohio Players 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Albert Ayler record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord 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 Barracudas,
Toni Rubio,
Freddie Wadling,
Roxette,
Johnny Clarke,
Connie Case,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Drive Like Jehu,
Swans,
Lou Reed,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Amon Düül II,
The Mojo Men,
Ken Boothe,
Rites of Spring,
Angry Samoans,
Sam Rivers,
D'Angelo,
Glenn Branca,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Evens,
the Bar-Kays,
DNA,
Essential Logic,
Liliput,
Ronnie Foster,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Letta Mbulu,
Slick Rick,
Deadbeat,
cv313,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
The Black Dice,
Fatback Band,
Gabor Szabo,
Silicon Teens,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Bob Dylan,
Technova,
Nik Kershaw,
X-Ray Spex,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Sight & Sound,
The Beau Brummels,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Cecil Taylor,
Pantaleimon,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Lyres,
Quantec,
Duran Duran,
Neu!,
Ultra Naté,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Visage,
Fat Boys,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Robert Wyatt,
Avey Tare,
Soft Cell,
Scion, Scion, Scion, Scion.
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.