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 Greece and from Johannesburg.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 linndrum sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Tres Demented to the grunge kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Ice-T. All the underground hits.
All U.S. Maple tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Parry Music record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suicide record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Symarip,
Blancmange,
Quadrant,
Slick Rick,
The Leaves,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Isaac Hayes,
Bill Wells,
Gregory Isaacs,
Quantec,
Yellowson,
Quando Quango,
Severed Heads,
Monks,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Hasil Adkins,
Schoolly D,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
The Cowsills,
Ten City,
Tom Boy,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Byron Stingily,
Soulsonic Force,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Wasted Youth,
Qualms,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Names,
Masters at Work,
MC5,
Unwound,
Stockholm Monsters,
Pylon,
Neil Young,
Harpers Bizarre,
John Holt,
Todd Terry,
Ossler,
Wolf Eyes,
T.S.O.L.,
Pole,
Deadbeat,
The Young Rascals,
Gang Gang Dance,
Sexual Harrassment,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
June Days,
T. Rex,
Bill Near,
The Saints,
Colin Newman,
Can,
Country Joe & The Fish,
Lightning Bolt,
Jawbox,
Fear,
Silicon Teens,
The Black Dice,
Whodini,
Model 500,
Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow, Tomorrow.
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.