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 East Timor and from Paris.
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 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bologna and Jakarta.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 sitar 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 Minutemen to the punk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Nirvana. All the underground hits.
All Curtis Mayfield tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Red Krayola record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grime hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Moody Blues record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Martian,
Jeru the Damaja,
The Leaves,
The Moody Blues,
Stiv Bators,
Suicide,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Girls At Our Best!,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Bootsy Collins,
Theoretical Girls,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Black Dice,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Judy Mowatt,
Von Mondo,
Qualms,
Lower 48,
Sex Pistols,
Dawn Penn,
Laurel Aitken,
Pulsallama,
Sugar Minott,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Popol Vuh,
Bizarre Inc.,
The Smiths,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
X-102,
OOIOO,
Wolf Eyes,
L. Decosne,
Sarah Menescal,
Average White Band,
Negative Approach,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Skaos,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Country Teasers,
The Raincoats,
Erasure,
Youth Brigade,
Mandrill,
the Fania All-Stars,
The Index,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Bill Near,
Derrick May,
Heaven 17,
Kenny Larkin,
DJ Sneak,
Los Fastidios,
Fela Kuti,
The Last Poets,
Visage,
Jeff Mills,
Little Man,
The Blues Magoos,
ABC, ABC, ABC, ABC.
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.