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 Poland and from New York.
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 1963 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Philadelphia and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Houston 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 guitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Slackers to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Victims. All the underground hits.
All Symarip tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Tropical Tobacco record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 synthesizer and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Ultravox record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a 808.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a snare.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Swans,
Bobby Byrd,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Mr. Review,
Joe Finger,
Soul Sonic Force,
Charles Mingus,
The American Breed,
Robert Wyatt,
Lucky Dragons,
Sixth Finger,
Kayak,
KRS-One,
Eden Ahbez,
Glenn Branca,
Marc Almond,
Beasts of Bourbon,
The Names,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Rod Modell,
Black Sheep,
Neu!,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Jeru the Damaja,
Wasted Youth,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Fortunes,
Eric Dolphy,
Accadde A,
Rapeman,
Sarah Menescal,
Television Personalities,
Section 25,
Crispian St. Peters,
Reuben Wilson,
U.S. Maple,
Rekid,
The Sisters of Mercy,
the Slits,
Severed Heads,
Jesper Dahlback,
John Cale,
The Doors,
Agitation Free,
The Searchers,
Altered Images,
Spandau Ballet,
Johnny Clarke,
Prince Buster,
Crime,
The Martian,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Kerri Chandler,
Hasil Adkins,
Silicon Teens,
Guru Guru,
Scott Walker,
Chris & Cosey,
Peter and Kerry, Peter and Kerry, Peter and Kerry, Peter and Kerry.
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.