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 Jordan and from Houston.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Throbbing Gristle show in London.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Portland 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 1970 at the first Onyeabor practice in a loft in Enugu.
I was working on the güiro 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 ABC to the dance 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 Bobby Hutcherson. All the underground hits.
All Jeru the Damaja tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Roy Ayers record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying a theremin and a clarinet and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Absolute Body Control record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
John Lydon,
Connie Case,
Country Joe & The Fish,
DNA,
Laurel Aitken,
John Holt,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Clear Light,
Sparks,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Jeru the Damaja,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
AZ,
Andrew Hill,
Faraquet,
Bill Near,
The American Breed,
Reuben Wilson,
Sexual Harrassment,
Davy DMX,
Lou Christie,
Suicide,
The Knickerbockers,
The Gun Club,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
the Association,
Sex Pistols,
Godley & Creme,
The Litter,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Blossom Toes,
Jandek,
PIL,
Monks,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
The Kinks,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Skatalites,
The Toasters,
Lalann,
Arthur Verocai,
The Moody Blues,
The Zeros,
Kayak,
Deepchord,
Fugazi,
The Victims,
Dorothy Ashby,
Sixth Finger,
Pantaleimon,
Audionom,
Todd Terry,
Freddie Wadling,
Max Romeo,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Red Lorry Yellow Lorry,
Nils Olav,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Niagra,
The Alarm Clocks,
Bush Tetras,
Kevin Saunderson,
Second Layer, Second Layer, Second Layer, Second Layer.
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.