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 Jamaica and from Tehran.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1960 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Glasgow and Milan.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 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 Piero Umiliani to the dance kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Be Bop Deluxe. All the underground hits.
All Mr. Review tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Trumans Water record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a L. Decosne record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Depeche Mode,
Tears for Fears,
New York Dolls,
Johnny Osbourne,
Aural Exciters,
Chrome,
Black Pus,
The Happenings,
Subhumans,
Tommy Roe,
Sparks,
Amon Düül II,
H. Thieme,
Moss Icon,
E-Dancer,
Underground Resistance,
Reagan Youth,
Juan Atkins,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
A Flock of Seagulls,
The Move,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Second Layer,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Pussy Galore,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
X-101,
Guru Guru,
Harry Pussy,
Marcia Griffiths,
Kerri Chandler,
Freddie Wadling,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Television,
Jandek,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
The Fall,
Marine Girls,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Pere Ubu,
Eden Ahbez,
Minny Pops,
AZ,
Chris Corsano,
The Angels of Light,
Gong,
Monolake,
Fort Wilson Riot,
John Foxx,
Roxy Music,
Joe Finger,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Groovy Waters,
Wolf Eyes,
Sound Behaviour,
The Black Dice,
The American Breed,
The Cowsills,
Radio Birdman,
The Detroit Cobras,
Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama, Pulsallama.
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.