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 Tanzania and from Salvador.
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 1964 to 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Beijing and London.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Mexico City 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 1968 at the first Bowie practice in a loft in Bromley.
I was working on the arpeggiator 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 Jeru the Damaja to the jazz 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 Bang on a Can All-Stars. All the underground hits.
All Selector Dub Narcotic tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Alarm Clocks 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a spring reverb and a rhodes and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Lower 48 record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your clarinet and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a clarinet.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Surgeon,
Röyhkä ja Rättö ja Lehtisalo,
Dave Gahan,
T. Rex,
F. McDonald,
Bush Tetras,
Deepchord,
Kaleidoscope,
Subhumans,
Eric Copeland,
T.S.O.L.,
Aural Exciters,
Electric Prunes,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Kings Of Tomorrow,
EPMD,
Cheater Slicks,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Reagan Youth,
The Slackers,
Simply Red,
The Evens,
The Happenings,
Howard Jones,
Sarah Menescal,
Cymande,
Marine Girls,
Lee Hazlewood,
Sam Rivers,
The Vogues,
Althea and Donna,
Minutemen,
Black Pus,
Gichy Dan,
Crispian St. Peters,
The Names,
Shuggie Otis,
Sonny Sharrock,
Monks,
Soul Sonic Force,
Bill Wells,
the Fania All-Stars,
Fat Boys,
Sex Pistols,
Alphaville,
Robert Wyatt,
Kayak,
John Holt,
Tomorrow,
Magazine,
Ice-T,
Liliput,
The Gap Band,
10cc,
The Leaves,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
The Mummies, The Mummies, The Mummies, The Mummies.
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.