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 Paraguay and from Portland.
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 1961 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Flesh Eaters to the grime 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 The Fire Engines. All the underground hits.
All Subhumans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Mark Hollis 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Moss Icon record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
10cc,
the Soft Cell,
Yusef Lateef,
Wings,
Bill Wells,
Maurizio,
Whodini,
Brand Nubian,
The Flesh Eaters,
Quando Quango,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Moby Grape,
Lucky Dragons,
Thee Headcoats,
Ice-T,
The Offenders,
James Chance & The Contortions,
The Blackbyrds,
Donald Byrd,
Magazine,
June Days,
Tom Boy,
Procol Harum,
The Invisible,
Fat Boys,
The Doobie Brothers,
the Sonics,
F. McDonald,
New York Dolls,
Letta Mbulu,
Black Flag,
Jacques Brel,
Bronski Beat,
Sixth Finger,
Brick,
Blake Baxter,
Aural Exciters,
Joensuu 1685,
Gil Scott Heron,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
The Buckinghams,
Scientists,
The Move,
Roxette,
Reagan Youth,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
John Holt,
Grauzone,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Nation of Ulysses,
Scrapy,
The Trojans,
Dave Gahan,
The Gap Band,
T. Rex,
This Heat,
Electric Prunes,
Susan Cadogan, Susan Cadogan, Susan Cadogan, Susan Cadogan.
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.