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 Solomon Islands and from Lagos.
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 1964 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Tehran and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 1971 at the first Big Star practice in a loft in Memphis.
I was working on the sitar 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 The Leaves to the grime 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 Cabaret Voltaire. All the underground hits.
All Depeche Mode tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Index 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Traffic Nightmare record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mission of Burma,
Flipper,
Theoretical Girls,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Scientists,
Ponytail,
Monolake,
Crooked Eye,
Man Parrish,
Faust,
Pole,
Oneida,
Roger Hodgson,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
X-Ray Spex,
Spandau Ballet,
48th St. Collective,
Sixth Finger,
The Wake,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Subhumans,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Animal Collective,
Dead Boys,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Lower 48,
Joyce Sims,
Colin Newman,
David Axelrod,
Hoover,
Sugar Minott,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Names,
The Durutti Column,
Wally Richardson,
Minutemen,
Q65,
EPMD,
Electric Prunes,
Main Source,
Ossler,
LL Cool J,
Oblivians,
China Crisis,
Cymande,
Dave Gahan,
Simply Red,
Swans,
The Sound,
The Vogues,
Public Enemy,
Liliput,
Bobby Sherman,
U.S. Maple,
Althea and Donna,
Letta Mbulu,
Nick Fraelich,
Joe Finger,
Loose Ends,
The Offenders,
Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill, Andrew Hill.
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.