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 Papua New Guinea and from London.
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 1961 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Copenhagen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school New York 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 guitar 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 Bobby Hutcherson to the dance 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 Rites of Spring. All the underground hits.
All Ken Boothe tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sixth Finger 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 marimba and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Symarip record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a synthesizer.
I hear that you and your band have sold your synthesizer and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Terrestrial Tones,
Con Funk Shun,
Oblivians,
Tropical Tobacco,
Bobby Womack,
Black Flag,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
The Leaves,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Can,
Radiopuhelimet,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Vladislav Delay,
The Cramps,
Magazine,
The Offenders,
The Monochrome Set,
Nik Kershaw,
The Cowsills,
the Human League,
UT,
Slave,
Mad Mike,
John Holt,
Reuben Wilson,
The Alarm Clocks,
Byron Stingily,
The Sisters of Mercy,
the Bar-Kays,
Barclay James Harvest,
Rites of Spring,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
The Standells,
Lou Reed,
Hardrive,
Amazonics,
Mars,
Tom Boy,
Young Marble Giants,
Sight & Sound,
Tres Demented,
The Human League,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Scan 7,
Slick Rick,
Sugar Minott,
Throbbing Gristle,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Brick,
Icehouse,
the Association,
Lee Hazlewood,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Black Sheep,
Ronnie Foster,
The Happenings,
Tomorrow,
Funkadelic,
Swell Maps,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
cv313,
Todd Rundgren,
Terry Callier,
The Modern Lovers,
Subhumans, Subhumans, Subhumans, Subhumans.
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.