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 Bhutan and from Lagos.
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 1962 to 1972.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Edmonton 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald 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 Banda Bassotti to the rock 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 Sticky Fingaz feat. Raekwon. All the underground hits.
All Fela Kuti tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Nils Olav 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Electric Prunes record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron 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?
Scrapy,
Excepter,
The Trojans,
The Happenings,
Y Pants,
T. Rex,
The Fire Engines,
The Mojo Men,
The Monks,
The Wake,
Flamin' Groovies,
Circle Jerks,
Connie Case,
Pierre Henry,
Boredoms,
Bob Dylan,
The Skatalites,
The Birthday Party,
Albert Ayler,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Yellowson,
The Monochrome Set,
Motorama,
Little Man,
Section 25,
The Names,
David Bowie,
Johnny Osbourne,
Minny Pops,
Outsiders,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
The Doobie Brothers,
Arcadia,
Stiv Bators,
The Selecter,
Godley & Creme,
Toni Rubio,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
The Shadows of Knight,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Radiopuhelimet,
Kauko Röyhkä ja Narttu,
Simply Red,
Marine Girls,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Technova,
DNA,
Bobby Sherman,
Peter and Kerry,
The Real Kids,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Junior Murvin,
Quando Quango,
Man Eating Sloth,
Cybotron,
Monks,
Rotary Connection,
Fugazi,
Idris Muhammad,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker, Barbara Tucker.
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.