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 Bahrain 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 1961 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Toronto and Cairo.
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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Donald Fagen 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 Sun Ra to the punk 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 Urselle. All the underground hits.
All Gichy Dan tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Angels of Light & Akron/Family record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap 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 a marimba and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a David Bowie record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Barry Ungar,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
The Smiths,
Frankie Knuckles,
The Vogues,
Supertramp,
Mark Hollis,
Ultra Naté,
Hoover,
Deakin,
Marmalade,
Judy Mowatt,
Gian Franco Pienzio,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
F. McDonald,
Dorothy Ashby,
Coldchain, Rosco P., Featuring Pusha T from Clipse & Boo-Bonic,
The Mummies,
Malaria!,
Fela Kuti,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Eve St. Jones,
Aaron Thompson,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
Sugar Minott,
Make Up,
The J.B.'s,
Electric Prunes,
Michelle Simonal,
Fat Boys,
Cluster,
Tom Boy,
Thompson Twins,
Con Funk Shun,
Negative Approach,
Groovy Waters,
These Immortal Souls,
Thee Headcoats,
Heavy D & The Boyz,
Amon Düül II,
T.S.O.L.,
The Monks,
Grauzone,
Be Bop Deluxe,
Joe Smooth,
Accadde A,
Traffic Nightmare,
Basic Channel,
Ash Ra Tempel,
Don Cherry,
Yellowson,
Absolute Body Control,
Brand Nubian,
8 Eyed Spy,
Radiohead,
The Residents,
The Dave Clark Five,
John Coltrane,
The Seeds,
Monolake,
Mad Mike,
Anthony Braxton,
Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes, Blossom Toes.
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.