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 South Africa and from Milan.
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 1967 to 1973.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Bremen and Mumbai.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Spokane 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 marimba 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 These Immortal Souls to the rap kids.
I played it at the Hacienda.
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 Cal Tjader. All the underground hits.
All The American Breed tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Howard Jones record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal disco hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '60s cut and another box set from the '90s.
I hear you're buying an oboe and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Loose Ends record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your theremin and bought a snare.
I hear that you and your band have sold your snare and bought a theremin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Ultra Naté,
Lalann,
Lalo Schifrin,
Albert Ayler,
Marshall Jefferson,
Marc Almond,
The Detroit Cobras,
Lou Reed,
Section 25,
the Fania All-Stars,
One Last Wish,
T. Rex,
The Selecter,
Todd Terry,
London Community Gospel Choir,
The Victims,
Big Daddy Kane,
The Residents,
Symarip,
Throbbing Gristle,
Gerry Rafferty,
Moebius,
Joy Division,
Jacques Brel,
Smog,
Derrick May,
Can,
Connie Case,
Fugazi,
The Doobie Brothers,
The Music Machine,
Pet Shop Boys,
Grey Daturas,
Mars,
Simply Red,
Unwound,
Iggy Pop,
The Slits,
Pharoah Sanders,
The Shadows of Knight,
The Royal Family And The Poor,
Gang of Four,
Deakin,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Bootsy Collins,
Janne Schatter,
Traffic Nightmare,
Dennis Brown,
The Sound,
Malaria!,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
LL Cool J,
Hardrive,
Frankie Knuckles,
Don Cherry,
Harpers Bizarre,
X-Ray Spex,
Boredoms,
The Raincoats,
Peter Gordon & Love of Life Orchestra,
Scott Walker,
A Flock of Seagulls,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Scrapy, Scrapy, Scrapy, Scrapy.
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.