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 Belarus and from Seoul.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Cairo and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 organ 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 Angels of Light & Akron/Family to the punk 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 Kerrie Biddell. All the underground hits.
All Johnny Clarke tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Electric Prunes record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Roy Ayers Ubiquity record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Suburban Knight,
The Beau Brummels,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Drive Like Jehu,
Shoche,
Flash Fearless,
Todd Terry,
Chris & Cosey,
Dawn Penn,
Maurizio,
Donald Byrd,
Leonard Cohen,
Underground Resistance,
Au Pairs,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Fortunes,
The Cramps,
Dual Sessions,
Flipper,
Sight & Sound,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Nik Kershaw,
Anthony Braxton,
Rites of Spring,
Khruangbin,
X-Ray Spex,
Mandrill,
10cc,
the Swans,
OOIOO,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Lou Christie,
the Slits,
The Pop Group,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Zeros,
The Angels of Light,
AZ,
Mr. Review,
Chris Corsano,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Bobby Womack,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Alice Coltrane,
Stiv Bators,
Whodini,
Second Layer,
The Black Dice,
Fear,
U.S. Maple,
The Birthday Party,
E-Dancer,
Japan,
Babytalk,
Reagan Youth,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Fuzztones,
Rapeman,
The Index,
Stetsasonic,
Cluster,
The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds, The Seeds.
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.