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 Sudan and from Seoul.
But I was there.
I was there in 1987.
I was there at the first Nirvana show in Seattle.
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 1966 to 1977.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Mumbai and Houston.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Johannesburg 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 spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Holger Czukay 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 Don Cherry to the grunge kids.
I played it at the Crocodile.
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 Derrick Morgan. All the underground hits.
All Jesper Dahlbäck tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Reuben Wilson record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '70s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a chamberlin and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Simply Red record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your arpeggiator and bought a harpsichord.
I hear that you and your band have sold your harpsichord and bought an arpeggiator.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Motorama,
Rites of Spring,
Albert Ayler,
Marmalade,
Howard Jones,
Erykah Badu,
Royal Trux,
MC5,
Heaven 17,
Marcia Griffiths,
Delta 5,
The Neon Judgement,
Jerry Gold Smith,
The Cure,
Swell Maps,
Arthur Verocai,
Nas,
Suicide,
Brass Construction,
X-101,
Whodini,
Henry Cow,
Tomorrow,
Slick Rick,
Mars,
Chris & Cosey,
Bobby Womack,
The Pop Group,
Gang of Four,
Mr. Review,
Art Ensemble Of Chicago,
Au Pairs,
Reuben Wilson,
Black Pus,
Rowland S Howard / Lydia Lunch,
Sexual Harrassment,
Boogie Down Productions,
Flash Fearless,
Niagra,
Skarface,
The Victims,
Terrestrial Tones,
Hoover,
Pylon,
Byron Stingily,
Yaz,
Sad Lovers and Giants,
Black Bananas,
Spandau Ballet,
Faust,
Infiniti,
Beasts of Bourbon,
Nils Olav,
Camron Feat. Memphis Bleek And Beenie Seigel,
Glenn Branca,
Make Up,
Cecil Taylor,
Gregory Isaacs,
Bill Near,
Joe Finger,
Dual Sessions,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
The Beau Brummels,
Can, Can, Can, Can.
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.