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 Yemen and from Sao Paulo.
But I was there.
I was there in 2001.
I was there at the first Tiga show in Montreal.
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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manchester and Mexico City.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Cairo 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 chamberlin sounds with much patience.
I was there when Lou Reed 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 Sixth Finger to the funk kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Mighty Diamonds. All the underground hits.
All The Cowsills tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Peanut Butter Conspiracy record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Martian record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your 808 and bought a spring reverb.
I hear that you and your band have sold your spring reverb and bought a 808.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Moody Blues,
Cameo,
John Coltrane,
Max Romeo,
Hot Snakes,
Bang On A Can,
Radiopuhelimet,
Severed Heads,
Model 500,
Alison Limerick,
Ultramagnetic MC's,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Lizzy Mercier Descloux,
Essential Logic,
Visage,
Wings,
Swell Maps,
Symarip,
Deakin,
Alice Coltrane,
Bizarre Inc.,
Masters at Work,
Steve Hackett,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Soul II Soul,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Bauhaus,
Q65,
The Tremeloes,
Fear,
Blancmange,
Dorothy Ashby,
Intrusion,
Popol Vuh,
Public Enemy,
Jeff Lynne,
Matthew Halsall,
The Skatalites,
Junior Murvin,
H. Thieme,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
the Bar-Kays,
Joe Finger,
Vladislav Delay,
China Crisis,
Harpers Bizarre,
the Slits,
B.T. Express,
The Mummies,
Matthew Bourne,
Andrew Hill,
Hardrive,
The Fugs,
Jawbox,
Animal Collective,
Stockholm Monsters,
MC5,
Ronnie Foster,
Lalann,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Josef K,
The Selecter,
Freddie Wadling,
Camouflage, Camouflage, Camouflage, Camouflage.
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.