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 Uruguay and from Edmonton.
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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Toronto.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Cecil Taylor to the rock kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 London Community Gospel Choir. All the underground hits.
All Jacques Brel tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Eric B and Rakim record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal grunge hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a guitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dirtbombs record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
the Bar-Kays,
48th St. Collective,
The Flesh Eaters,
Lalann,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Laurel Aitken,
Thee Headcoats,
Guru Guru,
Susan Cadogan,
Mandrill,
Excepter,
Johnny Clarke,
The Human League,
These Immortal Souls,
Jeff Lynne,
Rapeman,
X-101,
Animal Collective,
Rakim,
Kerrie Biddell,
Bizarre Inc.,
Soft Cell,
Gabor Szabo,
Crime,
Albert Ayler,
Eve St. Jones,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
The Smoke,
The Angels of Light,
Marvin Gaye,
Maurizio,
Lou Christie,
Pantytec,
Barrington Levy,
Los Fastidios,
Pylon,
In Retrospect,
Model 500,
Bang On A Can,
Neu!,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Dual Sessions,
Desert Stars,
Cabaret Voltaire,
The Grass Roots,
Oneida,
Monks,
Man Eating Sloth,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Associates,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Donny Hathaway,
Agent Orange,
10cc,
Goldenarms,
Faraquet,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Gregory Isaacs,
Robert Wyatt,
Dead Boys,
The Names,
Gong,
Graham Central Station, Graham Central Station, Graham Central Station, Graham Central Station.
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.