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 France and from Woodstock.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Seoul and Delhi.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Reagan Youth to the crunk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Slackers. All the underground hits.
All The Durutti Column tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every A Flock of Seagulls 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Strawberry Alarm Clock record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Sexual Harrassment,
Lakeside,
Scrapy,
Boredoms,
Nik Kershaw,
The Trojans,
Bill Near,
John Holt,
Nirvana,
Ohio Players,
Mark Hollis,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Harry Pussy,
Unwound,
Animal Collective,
Jeru the Damaja,
Unrelated Segments,
Swans,
Little Man,
Pet Shop Boys,
Aaron Thompson,
Judy Mowatt,
The Residents,
Black Sheep,
The Gap Band,
Eddi Front,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Pussy Galore,
Slave,
Scan 7,
Alison Limerick,
Flipper,
Rufus Thomas,
Tubeway Army,
Fatback Band,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Fall,
Ponytail,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Tomorrow,
Marcia Griffiths,
Monks,
Bad Manners,
David Bowie,
Lee Hazlewood,
Dennis Brown,
Ken Boothe,
Leonard Cohen,
Terrestrial Tones,
Blancmange,
Soft Cell,
Bauhaus,
Ultimate Spinach,
Gang Starr,
Junior Murvin,
Wolf Eyes,
The Wake,
N.O.R.E. Featuring Pharrell,
The Move,
New York Dolls,
Can,
The Red Krayola,
Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish, Man Parrish.
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.