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 Manila.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Soft Boys show in Cambridge.
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 Manchester and Portland.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bremen 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 mellotron sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Selector Dub Narcotic to the funk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Angry Samoans. All the underground hits.
All The American Breed tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Amon Düül II record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a guitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pussy Galore record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Deakin,
Pussy Galore,
Spoonie Gee,
Leonard Cohen,
Gastr Del Sol,
The Toasters,
Cameo,
Das Ding,
The Move,
Barry Ungar,
Procol Harum,
Funkadelic,
Moebius,
Sandy B,
Masters at Work,
Con Funk Shun,
Connie Case,
Mandrill,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Malaria!,
The Real Kids,
Black Pus,
Soul II Soul,
Anthony Braxton,
Gary Puckett & The Union Gap,
Black Sheep,
Stockholm Monsters,
Wasted Youth,
The Cure,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
In Retrospect,
The Fire Engines,
Dual Sessions,
Ken Boothe,
Sarah Menescal,
Derrick Morgan,
the Fania All-Stars,
Traffic Nightmare,
The Index,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Sight & Sound,
Danielle Patucci,
Janne Schatter,
New Order,
Marcia Griffiths,
Electric Prunes,
Mr. Review,
The Black Dice,
Man Parrish,
Judy Mowatt,
FM Einheit,
Pole,
The Durutti Column,
Nation of Ulysses,
Mark Hollis,
Ultimate Spinach,
Donny Hathaway,
The Standells,
Jeff Mills,
Popol Vuh, Popol Vuh, Popol Vuh, Popol Vuh.
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.