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 Lebanon and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1965 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Woodstock.
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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 Ultra Naté to the rock 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 Glenn Branca. All the underground hits.
All Arab on Radar tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Don Cherry record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 mellotron and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Detroit Cobras record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord 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?
The Angels of Light,
Royal Trux,
Monolake,
U.S. Maple,
Audionom,
D'Angelo,
June Days,
The Index,
The Slits,
The Blues Magoos,
Avey Tare,
Eyeless In Gaza,
Dennis Brown,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
X-Ray Spex,
Swell Maps,
Crispian St. Peters,
Trumans Water,
Flash Fearless,
La Düsseldorf,
Lou Reed,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Derrick Morgan,
Wire,
Traffic Nightmare,
Barry Ungar,
Johnny Clarke,
John Foxx,
Buzzcocks,
Monks,
Tres Demented,
David Axelrod,
The Move,
Bang On A Can,
Blossom Toes,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Fifty Foot Hose,
The Flesh Eaters,
Steve Hackett,
Slave,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Last Poets,
The Toasters,
Arthur Verocai,
DJ Style,
Das Ding,
The Mummies,
Joensuu 1685,
Vainqueur,
Mary Jane Girls,
Leonard Cohen,
Shoche,
The Smoke,
The Motions,
The Moleskins,
Jandek,
Ludus,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Babytalk,
E-Dancer,
Mo-Dettes,
Max Romeo,
The Wake, The Wake, The Wake, The Wake.
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.