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 Mexico and from Lagos.
But I was there.
I was there in 1975.
I was there at the first Ubu show in Cleveland.
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 1974.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Johannesburg and New York.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra 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 arpeggiator sounds with much patience.
I was there when Tom Verlaine 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 Iggy Pop to the dance kids.
I played it at Trash.
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 Mission of Burma. All the underground hits.
All Maleditus Sound tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Talk Talk record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rock 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 sitar and a theremin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Dead C record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a marimba.
I hear that you and your band have sold your marimba and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Mark Hollis,
Nas,
The Chocolate Watch Band,
Eric B and Rakim,
The Cowsills,
the Swans,
Toni Rubio,
Amon Düül,
The Neon Judgement,
Duran Duran,
Niagra,
Rahsaan Roland Kirk,
Johnny Osbourne,
Pierre Henry,
Roy Ayers Ubiquity,
Sonny Sharrock,
The Black Dice,
Sparks,
Skaos,
The Moleskins,
Bobby Sherman,
Marvin Gaye,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Joyce Sims,
Eurythmics,
Henry Cow,
Symarip,
The Music Machine,
Wasted Youth,
Siglo XX,
Barry Ungar,
Rufus Thomas,
Don Cherry,
Alphaville,
Harry Pussy,
Cal Tjader,
Marcia Griffiths,
Delon & Dalcan,
Andrew Ashong & Theo Parrish,
Fugazi,
Slick Rick,
Agitation Free,
EPMD,
Rod Modell,
The Saints,
Derrick Morgan,
Nation of Ulysses,
Be Bop Deluxe,
The Zeros,
Malaria!,
Ultra Naté,
Kerri Chandler,
Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Kevin Saunderson,
Japan,
Das Ding,
Spandau Ballet,
Stetsasonic,
Glenn Branca,
Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily, Byron Stingily.
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.