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 Mauritius and from Beijing.
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 1965 to 1970.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Salvador.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Manchester 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 güiro 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 Blues Magoos to the punk kids.
I played it at CBGB's.
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 Donny Hathaway. All the underground hits.
All Marcia Griffiths tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Royal Family And The Poor record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 mellotron and an organ and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Suburban Knight record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your guitar and bought a chamberlin.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a guitar.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Pylon,
These Immortal Souls,
Stereo Dub,
Infiniti,
Simply Red,
U.S. Maple,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Bobby Byrd,
Pere Ubu,
T.S.O.L.,
Rakim,
Clear Light,
Ornette Coleman,
The Dave Clark Five,
Johnny Osbourne,
Aural Exciters,
Unrelated Segments,
Blossom Toes,
The Divine Comedy,
Supertramp,
In Retrospect,
Roxy Music,
Los Fastidios,
Easy Going,
Sparks,
Duran Duran,
The J.B.'s,
Camouflage,
The Neon Judgement,
Newcleus,
Black Pus,
Scientists,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
Japan,
The Red Krayola,
The Monks,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
Ossler,
Donald Byrd,
Man Parrish,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Soul Sonic Force,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Sandy B,
Icehouse,
Dawn Penn,
Sex Pistols,
Steve Hackett,
Reagan Youth,
the Association,
Andrew Hill,
Pharoah Sanders,
Y Pants,
The Electric Prunes,
Godley & Creme,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Radiohead,
The Buckinghams,
Ajijia Myrayebe,
X-101, X-101, X-101, X-101.
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.