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 Suriname and from Philadelphia.
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 1969 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in London and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Fifty Foot Hose to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Joensuu 1685. All the underground hits.
All KRS-One tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crispian St. Peters record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 an oboe and a marimba and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Theoretical Girls record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a mellotron.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The New Christs,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Prince Buster,
The Motions,
Judy Mowatt,
Howard Jones,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Stiv Bators,
Lyres,
The Star Department,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
KRS-One,
Tres Demented,
Icehouse,
Flamin' Groovies,
Ohio Players,
Liliput,
Pulsallama,
Sex Pistols,
Warsaw,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Reuben Wilson,
Alton Ellis,
Au Pairs,
Dave Gahan,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
The Martian,
Colin Newman,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Hot Snakes,
Siglo XX,
John Lydon,
Panda Bear,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Chris Corsano,
Sandy B,
Sight & Sound,
Wolf Eyes,
The Black Dice,
The United States of America,
DJ Style,
Lightning Bolt,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Gang Green,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Khruangbin,
Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Lou Reed,
Jacob Miller,
Delta 5,
Accadde A,
Amon Düül,
Half Japanese,
LL Cool J,
Rufus Thomas,
Circle Jerks,
The Move,
Chris & Cosey,
Moss Icon,
Swell Maps,
Supertramp,
Freddie Wadling,
The Angels of Light,
Matthew Halsall, Matthew Halsall, Matthew Halsall, Matthew Halsall.
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.