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 Namibia and from Beijing.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Selda show in Istanbul.
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 1965 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Winnipeg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Columbus 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 marimba sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 John Coltrane to the crunk 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 Boredoms. All the underground hits.
All E-Dancer tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Fortunes 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 '50s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and an arpeggiator and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a sitar.
I hear that you and your band have sold your sitar and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Drexciya,
DNA,
Girls At Our Best!,
Mars,
Subhumans,
Swans,
Smog,
Public Enemy,
The Searchers,
The Buckinghams,
Soft Cell,
Faraquet,
LL Cool J,
T. Rex,
X-Ray Spex,
Jerry Gold Smith,
Man Parrish,
China Crisis,
The Knickerbockers,
The Flesh Eaters,
Country Joe & The Fish,
These Immortal Souls,
Sex Pistols,
Wings,
Suicide,
Lakeside,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Curtis Mayfield,
Royal Trux,
Liaisons Dangereuses,
Agent Orange,
Barrington Levy,
Sun City Girls,
The J.B.'s,
Silicon Teens,
Gil Scott Heron,
Barclay James Harvest,
Al Stewart,
David McCallum,
Oneida,
The Golliwogs,
Nas,
Bobbi Humphrey,
Section 25,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
The Fortunes,
John Cale,
Bronski Beat,
Heaven 17,
Stockholm Monsters,
Absolute Body Control,
The Cowsills,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
Don Cherry,
Boredoms,
Reuben Wilson,
Bill Wells,
Depeche Mode,
Excepter, Excepter, Excepter, Excepter.
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.