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 Sri Lanka and from Hong Kong.
But I was there.
I was there in 1967.
I was there at the first Rodriguez show in Detroit.
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 1964 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Spokane.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lyon 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 guitar 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 Jesper Dahlbäck to the funk kids.
I played it at the Roxy.
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 The Alarm Clocks. All the underground hits.
All John Lydon tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Radiopuhelimet record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal electroclash hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Panda Bear record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Fall,
Gong,
Pussy Galore,
Nico,
Sällskapet,
Dorothy Ashby,
The Divine Comedy,
The Star Department,
The Stooges,
Lalann,
Desert Stars,
The Busters,
Bang On A Can,
Susan Cadogan,
Eric Copeland,
The Velvet Underground,
Stetsasonic,
Yaz,
Joey Negro,
Wally Richardson,
Manfred Mann's Earth Band,
Eric Dolphy,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Monks,
Howard Jones,
Subhumans,
Can,
The Modern Lovers,
Black Sheep,
Kevin Saunderson,
48th St. Collective,
Crispy Ambulance,
Rod Modell,
Avey Tare,
Tres Demented,
Derrick Morgan,
U.S. Maple,
The J.B.'s,
June Days,
Smog,
DJ Sneak,
Shuggie Otis,
Cal Tjader,
Silicon Teens,
Black Flag,
Ohio Players,
This Heat,
EPMD,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
a-ha,
Agent Orange,
L. Decosne,
Vladislav Delay,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Rosa Yemen,
The Alarm Clocks,
The Blues Magoos,
Aural Exciters,
Henry Cow,
Alton Ellis,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Soft Machine, Soft Machine, Soft Machine, Soft Machine.
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.