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 Indonesia and from Mexico City.
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 1966 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Bremen.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Jakarta 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 1976 at the first Soft Boys practice in a loft in Cambridge.
I was working on the marimba 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 Metal Thangz to the funk kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Khruangbin. All the underground hits.
All Tropical Tobacco tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Loose Ends record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a marimba and a harpsichord and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a kango's stein massive record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a guitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Camouflage,
Pierre Henry,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
New York Dolls,
The Alarm Clocks,
Sixth Finger,
Archie Shepp,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Barrington Levy,
The Black Dice,
Infiniti,
Fat Boys,
Scott Walker,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
The Red Krayola,
Alphaville,
Wings,
Man Parrish,
Jimmy McGriff,
Aural Exciters,
The Cowsills,
The Gun Club,
Urselle,
Sarah Menescal,
Severed Heads,
Delta 5,
Bronski Beat,
Echospace,
Jawbox,
Altered Images,
E-Dancer,
Sparks,
Eric Dolphy,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Suicide,
Bizarre Inc.,
Sun Ra,
Skriet,
The Flesh Eaters,
Liliput,
Donald Byrd,
Eric B and Rakim,
Arab on Radar,
Glambeats Corp.,
Lou Christie,
Sexual Harrassment,
Subhumans,
The Names,
New Order,
OOIOO,
Youth Brigade,
Slick Rick,
This Heat,
Bob Dylan,
Stereo Dub,
The Fugs,
The Beau Brummels,
La Düsseldorf,
The Detroit Cobras,
Intrusion,
Rosa Yemen,
the Fania All-Stars,
MC5, MC5, MC5, MC5.
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.