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 Niger and from Hong Kong.
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 1968 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Shanghai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 1973 at the first Television practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the güiro 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 The Pretty Things to the disco kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Make Up. All the underground hits.
All Rhythim Is Rhythim tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every U.S. Maple record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 an oboe and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Last Poets record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a linndrum.
I hear that you and your band have sold your linndrum and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Neil Young,
A Certain Ratio,
The Seeds,
The Monks,
Sixth Finger,
Television,
Morten Harket,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Victims,
Faust,
Kas Product,
The Walker Brothers,
Josef K,
Nirvana,
The Dirtbombs,
Scrapy,
Tom Boy,
Bush Tetras,
The Fire Engines,
The Vogues,
Eric B and Rakim,
Inner City,
The Zeros,
L. Decosne,
Freddie Wadling,
The Cure,
Maurizio,
Sunsets and Hearts,
8 Eyed Spy,
Arab on Radar,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Marcia Griffiths,
The Happenings,
a-ha,
Arthur Verocai,
Robert Wyatt,
Graham Central Station,
Fat Boys,
Quando Quango,
Monks,
Rakim,
Tommy Roe,
Das Ding,
Desert Stars,
Heaven 17,
Bill Wells,
The Searchers,
Pere Ubu,
Circle Jerks,
Motorama,
The Fuzztones,
The Cosmic Jokers,
the Fania All-Stars,
DeepChord presents Echospace,
Alice Coltrane,
Skarface,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Janne Schatter,
Mission of Burma,
Average White Band,
Rosa Yemen, Rosa Yemen, Rosa Yemen, Rosa Yemen.
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.