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 Netherlands and from Stockholm.
But I was there.
I was there in 1977.
I was there at the first Mistral show in Amsterdam.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 David Bowie 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 Desert Stars to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Khruangbin. All the underground hits.
All Bang on a Can All-Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Harry Pussy 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a mellotron and a 808 and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Kool G Rap & DJ Polo record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Brothers Johnson,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
Lakeside,
8 Eyed Spy,
David Bowie,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Leaves,
Michelle Simonal,
Crispy Ambulance,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Letta Mbulu,
Bobbi Humphrey,
The Walker Brothers,
Tomorrow,
Mars,
The Mummies,
The Angels of Light,
The Techniques,
Guru Guru,
Bauhaus,
Nico,
The Five Americans,
Junior Murvin,
Shuggie Otis,
Buzzcocks,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Real Kids,
The Martian,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Barracudas,
Brand Nubian,
Boogie Down Productions,
The Names,
Fugazi,
K-Klass,
Josef K,
Electric Prunes,
The Tremeloes,
Siglo XX,
Tears for Fears,
Suicide,
a-ha,
Joey Negro,
The Fugs,
Public Image Ltd.,
Carl Craig,
Rotary Connection,
Clear Light,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Crime,
Jacques Brel,
Janne Schatter,
The Misunderstood,
Procol Harum,
Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy, Harry Pussy.
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.