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 Somalia and from Madrid.
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 1966 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Madrid.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Woodstock 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 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 Schoolly D to the dance 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 The Human League. All the underground hits.
All Bang on a Can All-Stars tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Metal Thangz record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Blake Baxter record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought a clarinet.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Toasters,
The Durutti Column,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Popol Vuh,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Malaria!,
Siglo XX,
Fear,
Ituana,
the Swans,
Little Man,
Youth Brigade,
Ultimate Spinach,
New York Dolls,
Lalann,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
L. Decosne,
Circle Jerks,
Harry Pussy,
Lou Christie,
Dual Sessions,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Quadrant,
The Blackbyrds,
The Victims,
Sister Nancy,
Jawbox,
Goldenarms,
Marmalade,
Flash Fearless,
Heaven 17,
Spandau Ballet,
Mission of Burma,
Magma,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Bang On A Can,
Sparks,
Rod Modell,
Sugar Minott,
The Dead C,
The Detroit Cobras,
Ultra Naté,
The Black Dice,
Godley & Creme,
The Cramps,
Jesper Dahlback,
Rufus Thomas,
JFA,
the Fania All-Stars,
D'Angelo,
Sarah Menescal,
Au Pairs,
Whodini,
Camberwell Now,
the Soft Cell,
China Crisis,
John Holt,
Zapp,
Pharoah Sanders,
Rotary Connection,
The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light, The Angels of Light.
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.