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 Marshall Islands and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron 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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Hong Kong.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 oboe 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 Circle Jerks to the punk kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Throbbing Gristle. All the underground hits.
All Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Andrew Hill record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Fatback Band record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Subhumans,
Symarip,
John Holt,
LL Cool J,
Rapeman,
Donald Byrd,
Shuggie Otis,
Hasil Adkins,
The Angels of Light,
Cecil Taylor,
Sam Rivers,
New Age Steppers,
Little Man,
Susan Cadogan,
The Dirtbombs,
Deutsch Amerikanische Freundschaft,
Bauhaus,
Blossom Toes,
the Association,
Clear Light,
Inner City,
The Walker Brothers,
Cluster,
MDC,
Delon & Dalcan,
Moby Grape,
Gil Scott Heron,
Barry Ungar,
Moebius,
Stetsasonic,
Loose Ends,
Cybotron,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Fugazi,
Sound Behaviour,
Kerrie Biddell,
Lebanon Hanover,
Yellowson,
Bush Tetras,
The Evens,
Piero Umiliani,
Trumans Water,
Avey Tare,
Peter and Kerry,
Gichy Dan,
Josef K,
the Soft Cell,
Deadbeat,
Marmalade,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Jeru the Damaja,
Arthur Verocai,
Theoretical Girls,
The Cure,
ABBA,
Matthew Bourne,
The Trojans,
Tubeway Army,
The Smoke,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Pere Ubu,
the Germs,
Mr. Review,
The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks, The Alarm Clocks.
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.