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 Dominica and from Salvador.
But I was there.
I was there in 1962.
I was there at the first Guess Who show in Winnipeg.
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 1976.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Columbus and Tehran.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Tehran 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 rhodes sounds with much patience.
I was there when Robert Palmer 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 Royal Trux to the rap 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 Tres Demented. All the underground hits.
All Urselle tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every L. Decosne record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal techno 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 808 and a synthesizer and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a The Wake record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your chamberlin and bought a güiro.
I hear that you and your band have sold your güiro and bought a chamberlin.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
The Kinks,
the Association,
the Swans,
Parry Music,
Teenage Jesus and the Jerks,
The Five Americans,
Tears for Fears,
Marmalade,
Lebanon Hanover,
Minutemen,
Eden Ahbez,
Todd Terry,
AZ,
The Cosmic Jokers,
Marc Romboy vs. Booka Shade,
Delta 5,
Howard Jones,
Lalo Schifrin,
Loose Ends,
Barclay James Harvest,
Roy Ayers,
Kool G Rap & DJ Polo,
New York Dolls,
Patti Smith,
Harry Pussy,
Reagan Youth,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
Heaven 17,
Ralphi Rosario,
The Blues Magoos,
Q65,
Letta Mbulu,
Agent Orange,
Bob Dylan,
Eli Mardock,
Sun Ra Arkestra,
Rites of Spring,
Quando Quango,
Ludus,
Tubeway Army,
James White and The Blacks,
Minnie Riperton,
Cecil Taylor,
Carl Craig,
Gil Scott-Heron and Jamie xx,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Gregory Isaacs,
Panda Bear,
Nirvana,
John Lydon,
Jacob Miller,
Charles Mingus,
Popol Vuh,
Dark Day,
Matthew Halsall,
Lakeside,
Banda Bassotti,
Mark Hollis,
Max Romeo,
Bizarre Inc.,
Dennis Brown,
Jesper Dahlbäck,
Quantec,
The Red Krayola,
Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt, Lightning Bolt.
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.