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 Papua New Guinea and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1968.
I was there at the first Can show in Cologne.
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 Madrid and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 harpsichord 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 Alarm Clocks to the crunk 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 Joensuu 1685. All the underground hits.
All Albert Ayler tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Monolake 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Man Parrish record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a spring reverb.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Thee Headcoats,
Pere Ubu,
Spoonie Gee,
Mission of Burma,
X-101,
Amon Düül,
Metal Thangz,
Crispian St. Peters,
Boredoms,
Brick,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Camberwell Now,
Minutemen,
ABBA,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
The Blackbyrds,
Vainqueur,
the Normal,
Groovy Waters,
Wolf Eyes,
Hashim,
Sun City Girls,
Sugar Minott,
Junior Murvin,
Bill Wells,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Seeds,
The Velvet Underground,
Joe Finger,
B.T. Express,
Alphaville,
Japan,
Tom Boy,
Circle Jerks,
Patti Smith,
London Community Gospel Choir,
ABC,
The Mummies,
The Moody Blues,
Letta Mbulu,
The Birthday Party,
Youth Brigade,
Nils Olav,
Royal Trux,
Clear Light,
T.S.O.L.,
Gastr Del Sol,
D'Angelo,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Make Up,
Ice-T,
Althea and Donna,
Lou Reed & Metallica,
Aural Exciters,
Sight & Sound,
The Black Dice,
The Detroit Cobras,
Wally Richardson,
Pet Shop Boys,
Leonard Cohen,
Young Marble Giants,
Eli Mardock, Eli Mardock, Eli Mardock, Eli Mardock.
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.