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 France 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 1962 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Portland and Edmonton.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Paris 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 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the spring reverb 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 Leonard Cohen to the punk kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch. All the underground hits.
All Lakeside tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Little Man record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Severed Heads record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Cure,
Smog,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Pantytec,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
Blancmange,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
the Human League,
Model 500,
Althea and Donna,
Connie Case,
Niagra,
Lindisfarne,
Gang Starr,
Amazonics,
Michelle Simonal,
Barbara Tucker,
The Litter,
The Dead C,
Crispian St. Peters,
Gang Green,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Joe Finger,
Pantaleimon,
The Happenings,
Eric B and Rakim,
Inner City,
The Dave Clark Five,
Rapeman,
Alison Limerick,
Ludus,
Eric Copeland,
Bad Manners,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Leonard Cohen,
Frankie Knuckles,
The New Christs,
Lalo Schifrin,
Suicide,
John Foxx,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
Toni Rubio,
Roy Ayers,
The Trojans,
Black Pus,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
Big Daddy Kane,
Flipper,
Ultimate Spinach,
Mr. Review,
Wings,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Cybotron,
Liliput,
The Beau Brummels,
Vainqueur,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Minutemen,
Thompson Twins,
Gerry Rafferty,
Masters at Work,
Grandmaster Flash,
John Holt,
Animal Collective, Animal Collective, Animal Collective, Animal Collective.
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.