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 Estonia and from Philadelphia.
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 1967 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Milan and Manila.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 808 sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Human League to the rock kids.
I played it at Cafe Wha.
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 Lafayette Afro Rock Band. All the underground hits.
All Guru Guru tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Suicide record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal punk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a harpsichord and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Sad Lovers and Giants record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
the Fania All-Stars,
Slick Rick,
Pagans,
the Association,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
Lungfish,
Black Sheep,
Sällskapet,
Mad Mike,
Ornette Coleman,
Agitation Free,
Whodini,
the Soft Cell,
Magazine,
Althea and Donna,
Big Daddy Kane,
Jacques Brel,
Jawbox,
The Fugs,
Marshall Jefferson,
Mary Jane Girls,
DJ Sneak,
Sandy B,
Oneida,
The Moody Blues,
Das Ding,
Gregory Isaacs,
Patti Smith,
Flamin' Groovies,
Popol Vuh,
Joey Negro,
The United States of America,
The Gladiators,
Banda Bassotti,
X-102,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Maurizio,
Khruangbin,
Schoolly D,
Zero Boys,
Yellowson,
The Beau Brummels,
Joe Finger,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Toni Rubio,
The Motions,
Amon Düül,
Crispy Ambulance,
Cabaret Voltaire,
Radio Birdman,
Lafayette Afro Rock Band,
Niagra,
Deakin,
The New Christs,
Donny Hathaway,
Excepter,
DNA,
Kerri Chandler,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Gap Band,
Oppenheimer Analysis,
Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron, Gil Scott Heron.
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.