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 Dominican Republic and from Philadelphia.
But I was there.
I was there in 1979.
I was there at the first Josef K show in Edinburgh.
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 1964 to 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Woodstock and Beijing.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Beijing 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 linndrum 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 Minutemen to the disco kids.
I played it at the 40 Watt.
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 Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme. All the underground hits.
All Pharoah Sanders tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every The Busters 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 '90s.
I hear you're buying a linndrum and a güiro and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Searchers record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a marimba.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Gang Starr,
Black Pus,
The Men They Couldn't Hang,
Groovy Waters,
Sparks,
Section 25,
Deepchord,
Circle Jerks,
Big Daddy Kane,
Sandy B,
The Sound,
Mission of Burma,
a-ha,
Shoche,
Technova,
Fort Wilson Riot,
The Angels of Light,
Bobby Sherman,
Angry Samoans,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Kas Product,
Jerry's Kids,
Radiopuhelimet,
The Barracudas,
Scrapy,
Boredoms,
Crash Course in Science,
The Slits,
The Electric Prunes,
Cybotron,
Altered Images,
Eurythmics,
Easy Going,
Lightning Bolt,
The Black Dice,
Man Eating Sloth,
The Pop Group,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Visage,
Khruangbin,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Aaron Thompson,
Fat Boys,
Bronski Beat,
Strawberry Alarm Clock,
Tim Buckley,
The Residents,
Von Mondo,
The Busters,
Essential Logic,
James White and The Blacks,
Intrusion,
Nik Kershaw,
Q65,
Jandek,
Skriet,
Trumans Water,
Laurel Aitken,
The Music Machine,
Joe Smooth, Joe Smooth, Joe Smooth, Joe Smooth.
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.