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 Pakistan and from Calgary.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Chic show in New York.
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 1960 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Manila and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Toronto 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 organ sounds with much patience.
I was there when David Bowie 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 The Buckinghams to the techno 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 H. Thieme. All the underground hits.
All Jacob Miller tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crash Course in Science 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 '80s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a güiro and a mellotron and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Underground Resistance record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ronan,
Connie Case,
Lalann,
The Kinks,
Gabor Szabo,
Rapeman,
Bronski Beat,
The Trojans,
Marshall Jefferson,
Magma,
Avey Tare,
Louis and Bebe Barron,
Marc Almond,
Sister Nancy,
Trumans Water,
PIL,
Eli Mardock,
Graham Central Station,
Darondo,
Thompson Twins,
The Dead C,
Suburban Knight,
The Angels of Light,
Depeche Mode,
Leonard Cohen,
Grandmaster Flash,
Stereo Dub,
Ultimate Spinach,
The Slits,
Freddie Wadling,
Malaria!,
Das Ding,
Clear Light,
Throbbing Gristle,
Soft Machine,
Faust,
Surgeon,
Juan Atkins,
The Birthday Party,
Von Mondo,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
X-Ray Spex,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Morten Harket,
Saccharine Trust,
Tubeway Army,
Kevin Saunderson,
Magazine,
Jimmy McGriff,
Cecil Taylor,
Andrew Hill,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Walker Brothers,
Gang Starr,
Eden Ahbez,
Yellowson,
Jeff Lynne,
Mad Mike,
Byron Stingily,
KRS-One,
Sex Pistols,
Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson, Bobby Hutcherson.
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.