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 Pakistan and from Hong Kong.
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 1965 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Stockholm and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tokyo 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 at the first Suicide practice in a loft in New York.
I was working on the organ 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 Avey Tare & Kría Brekkan to the disco kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Fear. All the underground hits.
All The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Jawbox record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a chamberlin and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Skarface record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Desert Stars,
Roxette,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Bauhaus,
The Five Americans,
Lou Christie,
Mantronix,
Quantec,
The Residents,
Black Bananas,
Bill Wells,
Rites of Spring,
Tom Boy,
The Detroit Cobras,
Stereo Dub,
Faust,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Stockholm Monsters,
Funkadelic,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Carl Craig,
Dual Sessions,
Arthur Verocai,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Susan Cadogan,
The Selecter,
Motorama,
Index,
The Happenings,
The Sound,
Unwound,
New Order,
OOIOO,
Pantytec,
The Flesh Eaters,
Can,
The Slackers,
James White and The Blacks,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Scott Walker,
The Alarm Clocks,
Gerry Rafferty,
DNA,
Oblivians,
The Grass Roots,
Jeru the Damaja,
Nils Olav,
Moss Icon,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Von Mondo,
The Motions,
The Durutti Column,
Little Man,
the Germs,
Liliput,
Tubeway Army,
Harmonia,
Magma,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps, The Cramps.
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.