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 Swaziland and from Winnipeg.
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 1979.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Spokane and Glasgow.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Glasgow 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 theremin 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 Pussy Galore to the jazz kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Jeru the Damaja. All the underground hits.
All The Pretty Things tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every a-ha record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '70s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Blackbyrds record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Tremeloes,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Kinks,
KRS-One,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Richard Hell and the Voidoids,
Radio Birdman,
Rufus Thomas,
The Searchers,
Black Flag,
Terrestrial Tones,
Colin Newman,
Eurythmics,
The Victims,
Banda Bassotti,
The Detroit Cobras,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
The Associates,
Bill Wells,
DJ Sneak,
Stockholm Monsters,
In Retrospect,
Cecil Taylor,
Sixth Finger,
Fugazi,
Joy Division,
John Coltrane,
Sister Nancy,
the Bar-Kays,
Smog,
Nils Olav,
Mars,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Bobby Byrd,
Spoonie Gee,
R.M.O.,
Lungfish,
Severed Heads,
The Jesus and Mary Chain,
The Index,
The Birthday Party,
Mo-Dettes,
Funkadelic,
The Toasters,
X-102,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
The Golliwogs,
Soft Cell,
Slave,
Unwound,
Delta 5,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Howard Jones,
The Fire Engines,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Surgeon,
Echospace,
Fort Wilson Riot,
Sunsets and Hearts,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Jesper Dahlback,
Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig, Carl Craig.
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.