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 Tokyo.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Seoul.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Calgary 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 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 Pussy Galore to the techno kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 D'Angelo. All the underground hits.
All Marcia Griffiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Todd Rundgren 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Franke,
Barclay James Harvest,
the Fania All-Stars,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Josef K,
T. Rex,
Cecil Taylor,
Popol Vuh,
Bootsy Collins,
Pharoah Sanders,
Yellowson,
Pole,
Rufus Thomas,
The Barracudas,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Roxette,
The Modern Lovers,
Marcia Griffiths,
Reagan Youth,
Bang On A Can,
Colin Newman,
The Moody Blues,
Severed Heads,
K-Klass,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Intrusion,
FM Einheit,
The Neon Judgement,
The Motions,
Bush Tetras,
The Victims,
Index,
Derrick Morgan,
Isaac Hayes,
Archie Shepp,
The Real Kids,
John Coltrane,
Blancmange,
World's Most,
Marshall Jefferson,
Kayak,
Organ,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Eyeless In Gaza,
OOIOO,
Visage,
Dead Boys,
Das Ding,
Ultra Naté,
Dave Gahan,
Nick Fraelich,
Drive Like Jehu,
The Flesh Eaters,
Bobby Womack,
Tom Boy,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Music Machine,
Nils Olav,
Big Daddy Kane,
Sugar Minott,
Terry Callier,
Deakin,
Slick Rick,
Y Pants,
Patti Smith, Patti Smith, Patti Smith, Patti Smith.
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.