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 Jordan and from Philadelphia.
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 1968 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Bologna.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the snare sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Cymande to the jazz kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Byron Stingily. All the underground hits.
All Quadrant tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Kerrie Biddell record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 linndrum and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Tom Boy record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Dirtbombs,
Warsaw,
Zapp,
Dark Day,
Anakelly,
Jawbox,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Smoke,
Gil Scott Heron,
Anthony Braxton,
Chris Corsano,
Hot Snakes,
Drexciya,
Con Funk Shun,
The Birthday Party,
Throbbing Gristle,
Hoover,
Depeche Mode,
Donny Hathaway,
Quantec,
The New Christs,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Rhythm & Sound,
Organ,
The Evens,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Crime,
Rosa Yemen,
Technova,
The Names,
Moss Icon,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Move,
The Stooges,
Jacques Brel,
Mr. Review,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Agent Orange,
Bobby Sherman,
Joey Negro,
Pulsallama,
The Flesh Eaters,
Davy DMX,
Mark Hollis,
Soul Sonic Force,
Lindisfarne,
Outsiders,
Amazonics,
Shuggie Otis,
John Lydon,
Susan Cadogan,
The Cowsills,
Soulsonic Force,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Robert Hood,
Ossler,
Metal Thangz,
Juan Atkins,
Brass Construction,
Altered Images, Altered Images, Altered Images, Altered Images.
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.