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 Senegal and from Spokane.
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 1968 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Winnipeg 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 1967 at the first Rodriguez practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the synthesizer 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 The Monks to the electroclash kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Half Japanese. All the underground hits.
All Jandek tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 chamberlin and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Angels of Light record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar 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?
Rosa Yemen,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Big Daddy Kane,
Joyce Sims,
Sam Rivers,
Yellowson,
Tropical Tobacco,
Mars,
Todd Terry,
Electric Prunes,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Charles Mingus,
Whodini,
Pussy Galore,
Black Moon,
Ronan,
Aswad,
Infiniti,
The Last Poets,
The Litter,
Flash Fearless,
Roger Hodgson,
Japan,
The Neon Judgement,
The Slackers,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
PIL,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Minny Pops,
Quando Quango,
Bob Dylan,
Pole,
Hardrive,
ABBA,
Outsiders,
Nico,
The Saints,
Bauhaus,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
The Dead C,
The Cure,
Jeff Mills,
The Techniques,
Kerrie Biddell,
Leonard Cohen,
Zapp,
Buzzcocks,
Piero Umiliani,
The Sound,
Nik Kershaw,
In Retrospect,
Country Teasers,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
Kayak,
Albert Ayler,
Grauzone,
The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos, The Blues Magoos.
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.