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 Thailand and from Cairo.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the 808 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 DJ Style to the grunge 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 Massinfluence. All the underground hits.
All Jacob Miller tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Agent Orange 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a snare and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang of Four record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Wings,
Iggy Pop,
The Angels of Light,
The Young Rascals,
Rufus Thomas,
Freddie Wadling,
Black Flag,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Joyce Sims,
the Bar-Kays,
Patti Smith,
Joey Negro,
The Techniques,
Kerri Chandler,
Eli Mardock,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Saccharine Trust,
Ponytail,
Niagra,
Hardrive,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
The Smiths,
Byron Stingily,
Soft Machine,
Rod Modell,
Crooked Eye,
Gong,
The Cowsills,
Archie Shepp,
Lindisfarne,
Mary Jane Girls,
The Slits,
Royal Trux,
Bluetip,
Second Layer,
The Dirtbombs,
Crash Course in Science,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Motorama,
Aaron Thompson,
DNA,
Das Ding,
Dave Gahan,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
Ohio Players,
The Fugs,
Hot Snakes,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
The Music Machine,
Sun City Girls,
Piero Umiliani,
The Offenders,
KRS-One,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Kayak,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
The Busters,
Rakim,
The Tremeloes,
Ralphi Rosario,
The New Christs,
Groovy Waters, Groovy Waters, Groovy Waters, Groovy Waters.
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.