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 United States and from Accra.
But I was there.
I was there in 1970.
I was there at the first Onyeabor show in Enugu.
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 1963 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in New York and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Copenhagen 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 1980 at the first Cybotron practice in a loft in Detroit.
I was working on the organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Bootsy's Rubber Band to the disco kids.
I played it at the Spitz.
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 Kool G Rap & DJ Polo. All the underground hits.
All Ituana tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every James White and The Blacks record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal jazz 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 clarinet and an oboe and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Terry Callier record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
New Age Steppers,
The Knickerbockers,
The Fuzztones,
The Pretty Things,
Delta 5,
Andrew Hill,
The Skatalites,
ABC,
The Pop Group,
Davy DMX,
Ralphi Rosario,
Cluster,
Echospace,
The Sound,
The Happenings,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
CMW,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Echo & the Bunnymen,
The Monks,
Kool Moe Dee,
Sam Rivers,
The Remains,
Nick Fraelich,
Grandmaster Flash,
Kerrie Biddell,
8 Eyed Spy,
Sällskapet,
K-Klass,
Peter and Kerry,
The Smiths,
Lou Reed,
Warren Ellis,
The Angels of Light,
Lalo Schifrin,
Judy Mowatt,
Crispy Ambulance,
the Soft Cell,
Moss Icon,
Liliput,
Gang Green,
Flamin' Groovies,
Brand Nubian,
Electric Light Orchestra,
New Order,
New York Dolls,
Warsaw,
These Immortal Souls,
Buzzcocks,
The Move,
Yazoo,
Sound Behaviour,
Eden Ahbez,
Johnny Osbourne,
It's A Beautiful Day,
Charles Mingus,
The Sisters of Mercy,
Dave Gahan,
Lindisfarne,
JFA,
Grey Daturas,
Con Funk Shun,
Lakeside, Lakeside, Lakeside, Lakeside.
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.