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 Kenya and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1962 to 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Salvador and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 arpeggiator 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 The Stooges to the electroclash kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Scratch Acid. All the underground hits.
All Bang On A Can tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Teenage Jesus and the Jerks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s 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 Lalann record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Heaven 17,
Qualms,
The Index,
The Human League,
Jesper Dahlback,
The Stooges,
Camberwell Now,
Soul Sonic Force,
Steve Hackett,
Black Sheep,
Tim Buckley,
Popol Vuh,
Crispian St. Peters,
Letta Mbulu,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Roxy Music,
Negative Approach,
Minny Pops,
Scientists,
Wolf Eyes,
Second Layer,
Maleditus Sound,
Ornette Coleman,
Technova,
The Move,
Make Up,
The Electric Prunes,
Slick Rick,
In Retrospect,
Gang Green,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Excepter,
Ultra Naté,
Black Bananas,
Jeff Lynne,
Byron Stingily,
Vladislav Delay,
X-Ray Spex,
B.T. Express,
Al Stewart,
Wasted Youth,
John Coltrane,
Connie Case,
Jerry's Kids,
DNA,
Nico,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Iggy Pop,
Marshall Jefferson,
the Sonics,
The Velvet Underground,
Tomorrow,
Eric Copeland,
Charles Mingus,
Godley & Creme,
The Star Department,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
June of 44,
Tom Boy,
David Axelrod,
Frankie Knuckles,
Livin' Joy,
The Doors, The Doors, The Doors, The Doors.
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.