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 Algeria and from Johannesburg.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971.
I was there at the first Big Star show in Memphis.
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 1967 to 1975.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Winnipeg and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Bologna 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 oboe sounds with much patience.
I was there when Captain Beefheart 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 Sly & The Family Stone to the rap kids.
I played it at the Astoria.
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 Jerry's Kids. All the underground hits.
All Todd Terry tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Cymande record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal dance 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 güiro and a spring reverb and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Crime record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a güiro.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Black Dice,
Aloha Tigers,
Man Eating Sloth,
Mr. Review,
Jeff Mills,
Gichy Dan,
The Fuzztones,
Mad Mike,
Blancmange,
Glenn Branca,
Liliput,
Bobby Hutcherson,
Wire,
Yellowson,
The Evens,
Nico,
Archie Shepp,
Con Funk Shun,
Joyce Sims,
Joey Negro,
Deadbeat,
Agent Orange,
Bobby Byrd,
Cymande,
Fela Kuti,
Gong,
Jacques Brel,
Danielle Patucci,
Gabor Szabo,
the Human League,
Donald Byrd,
John Foxx,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Thee Headcoats,
Black Pus,
H. Thieme,
Motorama,
Maleditus Sound,
Mandrill,
The Doobie Brothers,
Bill Wells,
James Chance & The Contortions,
One Last Wish,
The Gap Band,
Throbbing Gristle,
The Last Poets,
Cheater Slicks,
Das Ding,
Roxette,
Pussy Galore,
Patti Smith,
CMW,
Rekid,
It's A Beautiful Day,
The Velvet Underground,
Schoolly D,
The Detroit Cobras,
Sixth Finger,
Marvin Gaye,
Crash Course in Science,
Dennis Brown,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment, Sexual Harrassment.
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.