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 Mexico and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Detroit Cobras to the grime kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Black Moon. All the underground hits.
All the Sonics tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Monks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash 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 rhodes and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Nick Fraelich record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Kerrie Biddell,
Eurythmics,
Gang Gang Dance,
Moby Grape,
Vaughan Mason & Crew,
Panda Bear,
Oblivians,
Khruangbin,
The Stooges,
Charles Mingus,
Harry Pussy,
Sun City Girls,
Terry Callier,
Ornette Coleman,
Livin' Joy,
Second Layer,
Niagra,
cv313,
AZ,
Hardrive,
Essential Logic,
Sugar Minott,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
The American Breed,
The Slackers,
Stockholm Monsters,
Shoche,
LL Cool J,
Magazine,
Basic Channel,
Scientists,
Gang Green,
Ultimate Spinach,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Derrick May,
Bizarre Inc.,
Mary Jane Girls,
Bluetip,
Chris Corsano,
X-Ray Spex,
Jeff Mills,
Con Funk Shun,
Organ,
Erykah Badu,
8 Eyed Spy,
Wally Richardson,
Gong,
Deepchord,
Sällskapet,
Youth Brigade,
Marvin Gaye,
Jawbox,
James Chance & The Contortions,
Ronnie Foster,
The Fuzztones,
The Skatalites,
Blake Baxter,
Amazonics,
Pagans,
Popol Vuh,
The Mummies,
Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon, Surgeon.
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.