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 Austria and from Woodstock.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
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 1962 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 Michael McDonald 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 James White and The Blacks to the rap kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Sparks. All the underground hits.
All The Buckinghams tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Desert Stars 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 '70s.
I hear you're buying a rhodes and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Cabaret Voltaire record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
8 Eyed Spy,
Livin' Joy,
Das Ding,
Boogie Down Productions,
Faust,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Ten City,
Procol Harum,
Make Up,
Kenny Larkin,
The Happenings,
Pylon,
Major Organ And The Adding Machine,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Alison Limerick,
The Star Department,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Mo-Dettes,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Grass Roots,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
The Black Dice,
Erykah Badu,
The Golliwogs,
Scrapy,
Smog,
Donny Hathaway,
CMW,
Jacob Miller,
Kerrie Biddell,
Funkadelic,
Robert Görl,
the Bar-Kays,
A Certain Ratio,
a-ha,
Black Flag,
Max Romeo,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Zero Boys,
Anakelly,
Pharoah Sanders,
Tres Demented,
Lower 48,
the Soft Cell,
Juan Atkins,
Sonny Sharrock,
Essential Logic,
Scott Walker,
Pierre Henry,
Tomorrow,
Tubeway Army,
DNA,
Motorama,
Al Stewart,
Crash Course in Science,
Rotary Connection,
Main Source,
Robert Wyatt,
Dead Boys,
Josef K,
Symarip, Symarip, Symarip, Symarip.
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.