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 Barbados and from Johannesburg.
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 1967 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Salvador 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 2001 at the first Tiga practice in a loft in Montreal.
I was working on the arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 the Sonics to the disco 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 Barclay James Harvest. All the underground hits.
All Robert Wyatt tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ken Boothe 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a T.S.O.L. record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
8 Eyed Spy,
The Dead C,
Minor Threat,
Gil Scott Heron,
Al Stewart,
Donny Hathaway,
Bush Tetras,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Absolute Body Control,
Nik Kershaw,
One Last Wish,
The Names,
The Invisible,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Robert Hood,
Funkadelic,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Soft Machine,
The Doors,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Guru Guru,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Visage,
Janne Schatter,
Monolake,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Sexual Harrassment,
Leonard Cohen,
Harpers Bizarre,
Malaria!,
Prince Buster,
Maurizio,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Junior Murvin,
Lucky Dragons,
Glambeats Corp.,
Zero Boys,
Stockholm Monsters,
Steve Hackett,
Moby Grape,
Vainqueur,
Motorama,
The Raincoats,
Eddi Front,
The Sound,
The Selecter,
Pantaleimon,
Tres Demented,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Juan Atkins,
Matthew Bourne,
Harry Pussy,
The Tremeloes,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
the Normal,
Minny Pops,
Black Sheep,
Sonic Youth,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Barbara Tucker,
Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance, Crispy Ambulance.
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.