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 Nauru and from Spokane.
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 1964 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Salvador.
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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 Iggy Pop to the jazz kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Beasts of Bourbon. All the underground hits.
All Fifty Foot Hose tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Donald Byrd 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angels of Light & Akron/Family record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
June of 44,
the Germs,
The Seeds,
F. McDonald,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Unrelated Segments,
The Fuzztones,
Bush Tetras,
Alison Limerick,
Delon & Dalcan,
Rotary Connection,
X-101,
Nirvana,
Eric B and Rakim,
Ten City,
Sugar Minott,
Section 25,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Neil Young,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Yellowson,
Terry Callier,
Janne Schatter,
Kas Product,
Intrusion,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Fugs,
Oblivians,
The Cure,
Warren Ellis,
The Beau Brummels,
Swans,
Bauhaus,
The United States of America,
Moss Icon,
The Associates,
Gabor Szabo,
Aural Exciters,
The Sonics,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
The Mojo Men,
Soulsonic Force,
Traffic Nightmare,
Flipper,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Rekid,
Fad Gadget,
Marvin Gaye,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Ralphi Rosario,
Colin Newman,
The Mummies,
Scion,
New York Dolls,
Hoover,
Subhumans,
Sound Behaviour,
The American Breed,
Bobby Sherman,
Chris Corsano,
Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke, Johnny Clarke.
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.