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 Korea North and from Winnipeg.
But I was there.
I was there in .
I was there at the first Suicide show in New York.
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 1960 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Paris and Cairo.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mumbai 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 clarinet sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks to the grime kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Spoonie Gee. All the underground hits.
All Bobbi Humphrey tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 organ and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Mission of Burma record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Fat Boys,
The Wake,
Brass Construction,
Marmalade,
Lou Reed & John Cale,
Sparks,
Television,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Suburban Knight,
X-101,
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Joensuu 1685,
The Durutti Column,
The Fortunes,
Steve Hackett,
John Cale,
Sly & The Family Stone,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Soft Cell,
The Smiths,
Delta 5,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Gong,
Eric Copeland,
Surgeon,
Gang Starr,
David Bowie,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Rakim,
Public Enemy,
Marshall Jefferson,
Glambeats Corp.,
The Saints,
Circle Jerks,
Charles Mingus,
Lalo Schifrin,
Spoonie Gee,
Black Moon,
the Human League,
The Birthday Party,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Eric B and Rakim,
the Slits,
The Five Americans,
The Blues Magoos,
Mandrill,
Black Flag,
Captain Beefheart & His Magic Band,
Cameo,
The Human League,
Pagans,
The New Christs,
Country Teasers,
Minnie Riperton,
Excepter,
Desert Stars,
Peter and Kerry,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Juan Atkins,
Minor Threat,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark.
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.