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 Panama and from Columbus.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1964 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Jakarta and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the mellotron 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 Porter Ricks to the grunge 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 Eric B and Rakim. All the underground hits.
All Derrick May tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Pantaleimon record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal funk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Oblivians record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fela Kuti,
Spandau Ballet,
ABBA,
John Lydon,
Saccharine Trust,
Surgeon,
Dark Day,
Al Stewart,
Man Parrish,
Bluetip,
Aloha Tigers,
Eurythmics,
Lakeside,
Arab on Radar,
Joensuu 1685,
Blake Baxter,
Grauzone,
The Blues Magoos,
The Fortunes,
Mr. Review,
Sly & The Family Stone,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Buzzcocks,
KRS-One,
Prince Buster,
Sam Rivers,
The Gories,
Pulsallama,
Laurel Aitken,
Silicon Teens,
Yellowson,
Fatback Band,
Harry Pussy,
Stockholm Monsters,
The Modern Lovers,
Ituana,
Altered Images,
The Durutti Column,
The Fugs,
Wolf Eyes,
U.S. Maple,
Ultimate Spinach,
Japan,
Marshall Jefferson,
Glenn Branca,
E-Dancer,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Tropical Tobacco,
China Crisis,
Popol Vuh,
Amazonics,
Echospace,
Alphaville,
Gang Starr,
OOIOO,
One Last Wish,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
AZ,
Suicide, Suicide, Suicide, Suicide.
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.