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 Estonia and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Accra.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 mellotron 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 Eve St. Jones to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Men They Couldn't Hang. All the underground hits.
All Dorothy Ashby tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Infiniti record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a sitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Malaria! 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?
Scrapy,
The Sisters of Mercy,
David McCallum,
Mary Jane Girls,
Amazonics,
Nik Kershaw,
Essential Logic,
Kas Product,
Scratch Acid,
Section 25,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Minny Pops,
Faust,
Crispian St. Peters,
Ice-T,
The Fire Engines,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Colin Newman,
These Immortal Souls,
cv313,
Juan Atkins,
Smog,
Clear Light,
Ituana,
The Slackers,
Danielle Patucci,
Sam Rivers,
Liliput,
Malaria!,
The Fortunes,
Wire,
Drive Like Jehu,
Pulsallama,
Slick Rick,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Subhumans,
Funkadelic,
Charles Mingus,
Toni Rubio,
Jeff Mills,
Trumans Water,
The Golliwogs,
Sun City Girls,
La Düsseldorf,
Dennis Brown,
Surgeon,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Lou Reed,
Dorothy Ashby,
Soft Machine,
Marcia Griffiths,
Icehouse,
Gichy Dan,
The American Breed,
The Doors,
One Last Wish,
The Associates,
Darondo,
Gang of Four,
Deepchord, Deepchord, Deepchord, Deepchord.
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.