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 Equatorial Guinea and from Portland.
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 1969 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mexico City and Stockholm.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Taipei 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 1977 at the first Zapp practice in a loft in Hamilton.
I was working on the harpsichord 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 The Alarm Clocks to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
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 Siglo XX. All the underground hits.
All The Star Department tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every DJ Sneak 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an arpeggiator and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Pole record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an oboe.
I hear that you and your band have sold your oboe and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Kinks,
Pharaoh Sanders and the Fire Engines,
R.M.O.,
Sexual Harrassment,
Jesper Dahlback,
Donny Hathaway,
Leonard Cohen,
Wasted Youth,
Todd Terry,
Amazonics,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Interpol,
The Cowsills,
Livin' Joy,
Crooked Eye,
Country Teasers,
Morten Harket,
Hot Snakes,
Circle Jerks,
Boogie Down Productions,
Kango’s Stein Massive,
The Count Five,
Kool Moe Dee,
The Buckinghams,
The Mummies,
Deakin,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Johnny Clarke,
Das Ding,
Nik Kershaw,
The Mighty Diamonds,
Malaria!,
The Remains,
Fatback Band,
Idris Muhammad,
Gerry Rafferty,
Blancmange,
Tropical Tobacco,
Soft Cell,
The Gories,
London Community Gospel Choir,
10cc,
Surgeon,
Neu!,
Los Fastidios,
The Alarm Clocks,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Donald Byrd,
Gichy Dan,
Electric Light Orchestra,
Gil Scott Heron,
Depeche Mode,
Camron Feat. Jay Z And Juelz,
Silicon Teens,
Mandrill,
Flamin' Groovies,
Scion,
Black Bananas,
Janne Schatter,
Nation of Ulysses,
8 Eyed Spy,
Jerry's Kids,
Notorious Big And Bone Thugs,
Kas Product, Kas Product, Kas Product, Kas Product.
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.