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 Tanzania and from Taipei.
But I was there.
I was there in 1980.
I was there at the first Cybotron show in Detroit.
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 1963 to 1978.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Taipei and Johannesburg.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Sao Paulo 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 harpsichord sounds with much patience.
I was there when Nile Rodgers 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 Crispy Ambulance to the funk 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 DNA. All the underground hits.
All Joey Negro tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Ultimate Spinach record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal rap hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying an organ and a linndrum and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a the Swans record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought an organ.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Rakim,
Matthew Bourne,
Angry Samoans,
Procol Harum,
F. McDonald,
Justin Hinds & The Dominoes,
the Sonics,
Quadrant,
Slave,
Faraquet,
Todd Rundgren,
Cal Tjader,
Hot Snakes,
Bluetip,
Roy Ayers,
Joyce Sims,
World's Most,
Bronski Beat,
Gang Green,
The Blues Magoos,
London Community Gospel Choir,
Mr. Review,
Joe Finger,
Reuben Wilson,
Marshall Jefferson,
Desert Stars,
Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth,
Hasil Adkins,
Fifty Foot Hose,
Eve St. Jones,
Crime,
Accadde A,
Eric Dolphy,
Laurel Aitken,
Janne Schatter,
Bang on a Can All-Stars,
Robert Görl,
Fat Boys,
The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band,
Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds,
Outsiders,
Rhythim Is Rhythim,
Anakelly,
MDC,
Whodini,
Fear,
Marc Almond,
Supertramp,
Rapeman,
The Remains,
Man Parrish,
Wighnomy Brothers & Robag Wruhme,
U.S. Maple,
Spandau Ballet,
Barbara Tucker,
Don Cherry,
Bang On A Can,
The Peanut Butter Conspiracy,
Tropical Tobacco,
The Count Five,
Alice Coltrane,
Lyres,
Terror Squad Feat. Camron,
Index, Index, Index, Index.
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.