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 Pakistan and from New York.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic 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 1969 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Halifax and Paris.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 Captain Beefheart 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 Bush Tetras to the grunge 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 Simply Red. All the underground hits.
All Joey Negro tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Star Department record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk 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 an arpeggiator and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pagans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a mellotron.
I hear that you and your band have sold your mellotron and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Moebius,
Cymande,
Lindisfarne,
X-Ray Spex,
Tropical Tobacco,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Gladiators,
Black Bananas,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Technova,
Eric Copeland,
Eurythmics,
The Pretty Things,
The Dead C,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Groovy Waters,
The Victims,
Monolake,
Super Lover Cee & Casanova Rud,
Half Japanese,
Bobby Womack,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Toni Rubio,
Marshall Jefferson,
The Blues Magoos,
Barrington Levy,
Bobby Sherman,
the Fania All-Stars,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Moody Blues,
Rhythm & Sound,
Amon Düül II,
The Seeds,
Heaven 17,
Faust,
Thompson Twins,
Cal Tjader,
The Litter,
The United States of America,
Bluetip,
Curtis Mayfield,
The Associates,
Sugar Minott,
Tommy Roe,
Lalo Schifrin,
Larry & the Blue Notes,
David Axelrod,
China Crisis,
Robert Wyatt,
KRS-One,
Ultravox,
David McCallum,
Camouflage,
The Last Poets,
Flipper,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Thee Headcoats,
Au Pairs,
Supertramp,
The Fortunes, The Fortunes, The Fortunes, The Fortunes.
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.