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 Slovenia and from Spokane.
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 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school London 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Public Image Ltd. to the crunk 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 Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade. All the underground hits.
All Loose Ends tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Bobby Hutcherson 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a James Chance & The Contortions record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
A Flock of Seagulls,
Crash Course in Science,
Stereo Dub,
Whodini,
Angry Samoans,
Godley & Creme,
Metal Thangz,
Mark Hollis,
The Red Krayola,
Panda Bear,
Charles Mingus,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Das Ding,
Flamin' Groovies,
Pussy Galore,
Black Flag,
Alton Ellis,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Doors,
Stiv Bators,
The Motions,
Symarip,
Rosa Yemen,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Rakim,
Ultra Naté,
Fad Gadget,
The Toasters,
Man Eating Sloth,
Darondo,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Dirtbombs,
Brick,
Goldenarms,
The Gun Club,
Dead Boys,
Terry Callier,
The American Breed,
DNA,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
David Axelrod,
Technova,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
ABC,
Rod Modell,
Bluetip,
Gang Green,
Leonard Cohen,
Nik Kershaw,
Minutemen,
the Sonics,
Moss Icon,
Negative Approach,
Man Parrish,
Lee Hazlewood,
Scientists,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Q and Not U,
Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock, Sonny Sharrock.
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.