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 Azerbaijan and from Copenhagen.
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 1960 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Lille and Halifax.
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 sitar sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Red Krayola to the rap 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 Blancmange. All the underground hits.
All Swans tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Sandy B 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 '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
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 Gang Starr record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Siouxsie and the Banshees,
Neu!,
Drexciya,
Little Man,
David McCallum,
Young Marble Giants,
Lucky Dragons,
Wasted Youth,
The Trojans,
Scratch Acid,
Maurizio,
The Dirtbombs,
The Fortunes,
Todd Rundgren,
Dr. Dre and Snoop Doggy Dog,
The Monochrome Set,
The J.B.'s,
The Pretty Things,
Lee Hazlewood,
Crispy Ambulance,
Gastr Del Sol,
Angels of Light & Akron/Family,
Aural Exciters,
The Doobie Brothers,
Hashim,
The Sound,
Whodini,
ABBA,
Malaria!,
Mars,
Kaleidoscope,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Lower 48,
Half Japanese,
Althea and Donna,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
Lindisfarne,
L. Decosne,
Eric Copeland,
Aswad,
Sound Behaviour,
Peter and Kerry,
Excepter,
Minor Threat,
Bad Manners,
Negative Approach,
the Slits,
Robert Görl,
Das Ding,
Alice Coltrane,
The Flesh Eaters,
Funkadelic,
Bootsy's Rubber Band,
La Düsseldorf,
Masta Ace, Craig G, Kool G Rap, Big Daddy Kane,
the Bar-Kays,
The Last Poets,
Jerry's Kids,
Country Teasers,
Carl Craig,
Urselle,
Marvin Gaye,
Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode, Depeche Mode.
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.