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 Zambia and from Woodstock.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Madrid 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 1975 at the first Ubu practice in a loft in Cleveland.
I was working on the güiro 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 The Human League to the grime kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Henry Cow. All the underground hits.
All Lonnie Liston Smith tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sam Rivers 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Barracudas record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Big Daddy Kane,
The Vogues,
Second Layer,
Lakeside,
Kaleidoscope,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Cramps,
Ronan,
Moebius,
Panda Bear,
The Selecter,
Rotary Connection,
Simply Red,
Franke,
Joyce Sims,
Thee Headcoats,
The Saints,
Y Pants,
Tubeway Army,
Porter Ricks,
Don Cherry,
8 Eyed Spy,
Outsiders,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Unrelated Segments,
Inner City,
Dark Day,
The Velvet Underground,
H. Thieme,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Beau Brummels,
The Golliwogs,
Prince Buster,
John Cale,
The Walker Brothers,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
DNA,
Susan Cadogan,
Cymande,
Bluetip,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Rod Modell,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Martian,
Ultravox,
Sonic Youth,
Stetsasonic,
Crash Course in Science,
F. McDonald,
The Detroit Cobras,
Carl Craig,
Parry Music,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
The Raincoats,
The Misunderstood,
The Victims,
Minutemen,
The Grass Roots,
The Move,
Wolf Eyes,
New York Dolls,
Eric B and Rakim,
Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman, Rapeman.
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.