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 Afghanistan and from Bologna.
But I was there.
I was there in 1973.
I was there at the first Television 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 1964 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and Manchester.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Lagos 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 guitar 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 Sun City Girls to the grime 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 Byron Stingily. All the underground hits.
All Radiohead tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every 48th St. Collective 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 '60s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a synthesizer and a sitar and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Angry Samoans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Popol Vuh,
Roxette,
The Sonics,
The Gun Club,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Fad Gadget,
X-Ray Spex,
Funkadelic,
Mantronix,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Hasil Adkins,
Max Romeo,
The Monks,
Reuben Wilson,
Sex Pistols,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
T.S.O.L.,
John Coltrane,
Black Pus,
Juan Atkins,
Eurythmics,
Minnie Riperton,
Prince Buster,
China Crisis,
Stetsasonic,
MDC,
Television,
Danielle Patucci,
FM Einheit,
Joyce Sims,
Unrelated Segments,
The Techniques,
Severed Heads,
Eyeless In Gaza,
The Mojo Men,
These Immortal Souls,
The Last Poets,
Avey Tare,
Icehouse,
Qualms,
Arcadia,
Sight & Sound,
Liliput,
The Moleskins,
The Martian,
Bizarre Inc.,
Yaz,
Slick Rick,
Skaos,
The Doobie Brothers,
Archie Shepp,
Average White Band,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Don Cherry,
Index,
Pet Shop Boys,
The Fugs,
Rod Modell,
KRS-One,
Freddie Wadling,
Colin Newman,
Oblivians,
Crispy Ambulance,
Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle, Throbbing Gristle.
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.